


The Scales of Judgment

by lackadaisical



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Indiana Jones Fusion, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe-Egyptologists, F/M, Male!Phasma, Morally Ambiguous Character, Ruritanian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:19:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackadaisical/pseuds/lackadaisical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When World War II breaks out, Rey—young assistant to famed archeologist, Professor Han Solo, and his associate, Chewbacca—finds herself at the center of a conflict she thought far away from her life on the dig. But, her expedition isn’t just digging up ruins anymore; the hunt is on for a holy artifact lost to the sands of time that could swiftly, and destructively, end the war: the Scales of Ma’at.</p><p>It’s a race and one made deadly with the stakes stacked ever higher by the entrance of a new competitor: ambitious and cunning ex patriot, Kylo Ren, estranged son of Professor Solo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tumblr prompt for an Egyptologist au (and, naturally, I can't find it now) which seemed too perfect to not do a little Indiana Jones cross-over with.

_November 6, 1938: New York City, United States_

Tucked into the dark recesses of the Stork Club, behind a haze of heady cigar smoke pierced by the faint flickering of table candles and atmospherically dimmed lighting, sat a decidedly peculiar pair. It _was_ the thirties and it _was_ New York City, but the two were so opposite—so uncannily dissimilar—they elicited curious stares from their fellow silk swaddled, penguin suited patrons.

The man on the right, hunched over his empty stout glass of whiskey and scowling fiercely, was past his fiftieth year with a nearly white head of hair to show for it. Yet, his frame was slim and skin tanned, attesting to time spent outside in an arid climate, and he wore his smart checkered suit well. He had the air of a man who was no stranger to finely tailored clothes but not against a uniform of loose khaki. Meanwhile, his companion was completely dissimilar in almost every respect: skin the coloration of rich mahogany, the muscle mass of a legendary warrior, and an engaging gaze. The second seemed far too kind to keep acquaintanceship with the first, an outwardly sour man.

Still, the two sat at a small table, nursing their drinks at varying paces in companionable silence, obviously waiting for something—or someone.

“Chewie,” the older man spoke, pushing aside the whiskey after the waiter replaced it for the fourth time. “What time did he say he’d get here?”

Checking his wristwatch, Chewie replied in heavily accented English, “About fifteen minutes ago, Professor.”

The Professor sighed heavily, swallowing down another mouthful of whiskey with a barely disguised desperation. “I thought so.” A pause. “Dammit; after all this time, I was hoping it wouldn’t be all cloak and dagger and shit.”

“It’s always ‘cloak and dagger and shit,’” Chewie replied, voice disinterested as he stared towards the front door. 

Snorting, the Professor nodded, conceding the point.

Without glancing to the Professor, Chewie questioned, “Was that telegram from the wife?”

The Professor needed no further elaboration; on the train in from Fairfield, a telegram had arrived, stamped ‘urgent’ and from Morocco. To Chewie’s knowledge, the only person in the Professor’s acquaintance from Morocco was his beloved, and estranged, wife.

“You can just read it, if you’re so curious,” the Professor replied gruffly though Chewie took no offense. After a moment, the Professor fished out the crumpled telegram from his sports jacket, offering it over to his friend.

A moment of silence followed, the Professor studying Chewie’s steadily climbing eyebrows. Finally, Chewie handed back the telegram, questioning, “Do you think they really found it?”

Shrugging as he stuffed the telegram back into the pocket, the Professor replied, “It’s possible. Most manuscript accounts place the temple on the northern side of the main complex but I have heard of one scroll claiming it to be on the southwest. It would certainly explain why it hasn’t been found before now.”

Chewie nodded, somewhat distractedly. “The temple of Ma’at,” he said, voice hushed at the name. “You don’t think… _they…_ would be there?” 

“It seems Leia's informants think so,” the Professor observed, tone matching his friend’s. “And she does, too. Otherwise she never would have sent the telegram.”

“Even though she doesn’t believe in them,” Chewie added. The Professor nodded but, when it became apparent he wasn’t going to willingly elaborate, Chewie prodded: “But what do you think, Han?”

“I don’t know any more, Chewie,” Han replied, crossing his arms and leaning away. “After all these years, after Luke disappeared; I just don’t know anymore.”

 Chewie frowned, displeased by the answer but only shook his head. Both of them knew Han was lying; the history, the archeology, the possibility of discovering the lost temple of Ma’at, and the mere _thought_ of ancient, dormant magic was all Han really believed inanymore. It was the one thing he still could cling to: the one hope, of all the many foolish hopes he had pursued in his long life, that hadn’t entirely failed him.

Chewie knew. He felt the exact same way.

Silence settled between them and they allowed it, both men content to their thoughts. When next the waiter came, asking if they were ready to order, they decided to put in their meal orders. If their associate appeared hungry, it would be his own fault for not keeping their appointment.

It was after eleven when Han and Chewie finished their desserts and decaffeinated coffee and the waiter left their check in his wake some twenty minutes prior. The patrons around their table had either vacated for the evening or were in deep conversation, too inebriated with drink and engrossing, drunken discussion to pay any attention to the two odd men anymore.

The bell over the front door chimed again and, more out of habit than truly believing their man would finally show, Chewie’s eyes lazily slid across the restaurant to the front.

He was out of his seat in an instant.

“What is it?” Han asked unnecessarily, having caught sight of the man, framed by the front entrance. He hurried to follow Chewie.

Shoving his way past patrons and wait staff alike, paying no mind to upsetting dishes or drinks, Chewie barreled to the man but it seemed he couldn’t move fast enough. Time slowed as both Han and Chewie ran for the front door, eyes fixated on the familiar figure of Ben Kenobi. The old man—older than Han by a good thirty years—was hunched over himself, leaning heavily on a gnarled cane while one hand clasped desperately, and uselessly, at his side. Blood stained his old, knobby hands, seeping into his skin and clothes.

Ben’s eyes alighted on Chewie and Han, and he barely managed to remain upright until Chewie was in arm’s reach of him. Ben crumpled in on himself, felled like a leaf in a fall breeze. With a lunge, darting his large hands out, Chewie intercepted Ben’s fall, carefully lowering him to the plush carpet. “Chewbacca, my old friend,” Ben wheezed, staring up into the younger man’s face earnestly. “You’ve always been there for me.”

“Call an ambulance, dammit!” Han barked at the maître-d’ as he thundered past, shocking the young waiter into movement. Crouching down at Ben’s side, staring wide-eyed at his blood-stained tweed suit, Han asked, lowly, “Kenobi, what happened?”

“No time for that, my boy,” Kenobi replied, his shaking hand prying itself free of his cane and managing to draw an envelope from his trouser pocket. The thick stationary—Han readily recognized it as papyrus—trembled in Ben’s hands as he offered it to Han. In short, pained gasps, Ben urged, “Take it. It’s what I wanted to talk to…you two about…find her…find…Rey.”

With a great shuttering breath, a great last effort, Ben smiled up at them before his eyelids crept shut. His smile slackened as his breath rattled into silence.

Ben Kenobi was dead when the ambulance arrived.

 

_August 15, 1939: Hungarian countryside_

Since Rey was very small, she told herself stories, creating them only for her secret knowledge, to comfort her in the deafening stillness of night, when the press of loneliness weighed down on her most keenly. Most were idle dreams of her parents suddenly appearing, miraculously alive after all these years and their murders all a lie. The more practical ones, the ones far more attainable yet still fantastical, detailed her adventures on an archeological expedition to Egypt.

Now, aged nineteen, she blinked hard, staring out of the train compartment window as the Hungarian Alps blurred by. She pinched herself for the fifth time. _Nope,_ she thought, not helping to smile at her reflection, _Still not a dream._

Yet, it had to be: it was far more incredible than any of her dreams had ever dared to be.

Glancing away from the window, she stared across the short aisle between her bench and the one facing her, to Professor Solo. Reading glasses perched on his nose as he skimmed through the _Magyar Nemzet_ , a local newspaper from their last stop in Budapest. He completely ignored her and Mister Chewbacca at his elbow. The much larger Chewie was puffing away at his pipe and caught her eye, grinning. She returned the smile.

“Just one more stop before Athens,” Chewbacca offered in his heavily accented English—he told her earlier his home was Morocco.

“I can’t wait,” Rey admitted, smile stretching wider, “When do you think we’ll get there?”

“Probably about mid afternoon,” Chewbacca replied, glancing out the window at the young sun only just peering over the high mountains. Silence descended again, both Chewie and Rey content to watching the world fly past their compartment window.

It may be the last time in a long while the Arlberg Orient Express line was making this trip, running from London to Athens. If what all the newspapers were splashing across their headlines was true, that Germany and Hitler were fixing for another war, the Orient Express would be hard-pressed to find patrons let alone travel from country-to-country. Rey thought it was a shame: the journey was so beautiful. It would be ruined by the ambitions of politicians.

She only hoped the politicking and warmongering wouldn’t extend to Egypt.

Tearing her eyes away from the view, she picked up her worn, dog-eared copy of Flinder Petrie’s _Methods and Aims in Archeology._ Running her hands over the worn leather of the cover, along the creases of the spine, she smiled down at the book. She remembered with a vivid clarity receiving it on her fourteenth birthday; it was the only gift to ever arrive on her birthday after her parents’ death and it came in simple brown paper wrapping. There was a plain note of well wishes attached.

Intrigued by the mysterious book, Rey devoured it, searching within for a clue to who the sender could be. Yet, her efforts were futile. The only result was her sudden and intense love for Egyptology. Her boarding school’s library wasn’t a particularly well-equipped resource on Ancient Egypt but she read the few books it did have multiple times. Rey supposed it was her method of loosing herself, of running from her grief, and she submerged herself in the study of long-dead pharaohs, pagan magical rites, and idolizing famed Egyptologists. She dreamt of meeting Howard Carter or Han Solo.

Staring back up at the Professor, still sitting across from her, reading his newspaper no matter how many times Rey checked. Just to make sure this _really_ wasn’t all some lucid dream, she pinched herself again.

_Still reality._

And it was a strange, but beautiful, reality for her, Rey Kenobi, to be the selected assistant of legendary Egyptologist, adventurer, and archeologist Han Solo, professor at the American Ivy league university, Barnett College. She was an orphan, a nobody, fed through the primary, secondary, and then adjoining university of the small girls’ boarding school of Niima Academy in the western reaches of nowhere, England. Of all the applicants at Niima, of all the applicants internationally, Professor Solo had found her most competent and offered her the job. A job she had only ever fantasize about, only ever dreamed briefly about for fear of losing herself to delusions: working on the excavation of what Professor Solo believed to be the lost temple of Ma’at at the Karnak in Luxor, Egypt.

Then, the train’s wheels were squealing and they were slowing, jolting Rey from her contemplation. It was a sensation Rey had become accustomed to after nearly twelve hours aboard the train. In the main corridor, the distant cry of the conductor echoed, growing louder as he made his rounds: “Next stop Belgrade! Next stop Belgrade!” The conductor switched to different languages—French, German, Hungarian—repeating the announcement.

Catching her eye, Chewbacca informed her with an equally eager grin: “After this stop it’ll be Athens. Afterwards: Egypt.”

Rey tried very hard to not squeal in excitement.

 

_August 17, 1939: Alexandria, Egypt_

To Rey, the great, black and white steamer took half a lifetime to chug into the Alexandrian harbor and dock. The city, white, crisp, and full of promise in the afternoon sun, rose from the azure blues of the Mediterranean. Breathing in deep breaths of air, the same air breathed by Cleopatra, Amenhotep, Ramesses, and Nefertiti, Rey imagined the city in ancient times. She saw the lighthouse on Pharos, the great domed library, the sacred mausoleum of Alexander the Great. Yet, in a blink of an eye, the Alexandria of antiquity gave way to the Alexandria of modern times. She was surprised to find she wasn’t disappointed.

Joining her at the railing of the top deck, Chewie braced himself against his forearms, saying, “I remember when I first sailed into Alexandria.” When Rey didn’t reply, only stared and waited for him to continue, he offered: “I was a little younger than yourself. I was accompanying Mace Windu on my first excavation.”

Mouth popping open at the famous Egyptologist’s name, Rey couldn’t help exclaiming: “You studied with _Sir_ Mace Windu _?”_

Chuckling, Chewbacca nodded. “I met him in Morocco when he was studying ancient Mauretania under Roman control; do you know about King Jubba II?”

“Sure,” Rey replied, nodding enthusiastically. “He was married to Cleopatra’s daughter.”

“Right,” Chewbacca agreed, pleased with her knowledge. “Sir Windu was trying to trace the descendants of King Jubba II. I happened to be in university at the time and became his assistant. When he left Morocco, I went back to Cambridge with him. My first time sailing into Alexandria was when I accompanied Sir Windu when he came to Egypt as a personal favor for Howard Carter.”

“You mean _the_ Howard Carter?” gasped Rey. “As in found-King-Tutankhamen’s-tomb Howard Carter?” With only the barest inclination of Chewbacca’s head, Rey was grinning in delight, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. “I can’t believe it; did you meet him? Did you get to see the inside of Tutankhamen’s tomb?”

“I see you’re already regaling her with all your adventures,” a dry voice interrupted then. Chewbacca and Rey turned over their shoulders to see Professor Solo standing behind them.

“Of course,” Chewbacca retorted, shrug easy and smile charming. “If _you_ weren’t going to tell her any stories, I might as well.”

“He’s just trying to impress you while he still can,” Professor Solo informed Rey, sending her a secretive wink, sharing a private joke with her. Rey tried very hard not to smile a big, stupid, toothy grin. Before Chewbacca could splutter out a reply, Professor Solo continued, “You two better go gather your bags. We’ll be docking soon and Lando won’t want to wait.”

“Of cour—” Rey began to agree before falling abruptly silent, suddenly paralyzed as she stared at Professor Solo. “Wait, did you say ‘Lando?’”

“As in Lando Calrissian, yes,” Chewbacca offered, easily following her thought.

 “Oh…my…Isis…” Rey managed to mutter faintly. Professor Solo and Chewbacca both stared, wondering if she was going to collapse in excitement.

#

After they disembarked the steamer, laden down with an impressive collection of luggage, and piled it and themselves into a private car awaiting them, Rey watched the modern city of Alexandria slid. Somewhere, beyond the distinctly twentieth century architecture, beyond the rumbling automotives, rising from the golden dunes of the desert were the pyramids, tombs of long dead and noble pharaohs. Somewhere, underneath rock and sand, waiting her arrival, was the lost temple of Ma’at.

As the driver navigated them through five o’clock traffic, Chewbacca and Professor Solo conversed in quiet tones. Initially, Rey was too consumed with her study of the world outside of the car to listen, but then her ears pricked as Professor Solo’s annoyed whisper drifted to her, saying, “… _trust_ _Calrissian but he surely won’t believe in Ma’at’s Sc…”_ Frowning, returning her attention to the inside of the car, she strained to hear what Mister Calrissian wouldn’t believe in. Yet, the conversation had moved onto transportation to Luxor.

Though she was a member of this expedition, Rey didn’t expect to be trusted with full knowledge of their mission. Archeologists, particularly Egyptologists, were notorious for secrecy while onto a big find for fear of credit being stolen, but she couldn’t help her curiosity to not eavesdrop. Yet, if Professor Solo and Mister Chewbacca were discussing something in whispered tones, debating if this ‘something’ could be trusted with famed historical fiction novelist, Lando Calrissian, than certainly it would be an earth-shattering find.

Maybe even bigger than King Tutankhamen’s tomb. The thought was mind-boggling.

But then the car was stopping before a high white wall, broken only by an exquisitely crafted and designed black iron gate. From over the wall peered tall palm trees while, through the slits in the gate, Rey discerned a handsome sandstone townhouse. By her reckoning, it was more a mansion or small palace.

She had no further time to observe the townhouse— _Lando Calrissian’s_ townhouse—as the driver was springing from the front, swinging the door open and ushering her out. Following Chewbacca and the Professor’s lead, leaving their luggage for the driver to deal with, Rey followed as they were shepherded through the gate by a security guard, and led up the long emerald lawn to the front door.

The door was swung open within an instant, revealing the bright smile and charming physique of Lando Calrissian. Rey readily recognized him from the newsreels and the author portraits included in the back of his novels. At Niima Academy, when Rey thoroughly read and memorized all the nonfiction texts of Egypt, she moved on with a ravenous appetite to fictional works. This included the highly researched, highly acclaimed historical romances penned by Lando Calrissian.

“Han! Chewbacca!” Lando greeted, practically snatching up the men’s hands and pumping them each in turn. “So happy to see you; so glad you’re here! Welcome, welcome, come on it.”

Extracting his hand from Lando with slight annoyance, Han indicated Rey with a nod. “Lando, this is my new assistant, Rey.”

Lando’s amiable smile turned charming, gravitationally irresistible, as he turned his attention to Rey. She knew she was blushing but she hoped it wasn’t terribly obvious. “Well, hello,” Lando greeted, bringing her hand to his lips and planting a kiss there.

“She’s young enough to be your daughter, Calrissian,” Chewbacca said, flatly.

“I was only being a good host,” Lando assured, patting Chewbacca’s rather sizable bicep once he released Rey’s hand. She stared down at it in wonder, her mind not quite processing that one of her favorite authors and personal heroes had just kissed it. “Come on it; dinner’s all set out for you. I thought you three might be hungry. We can discuss our travel plans for Luxor as we eat.”

“‘Our?’” Rey couldn’t help repeating, voice vague and, to her embarrassment, rather stupid sounding.

Landor led them through a grand, airy foyer and into a brilliantly decorated dining room, all shockingly English in layout, a sharp comparison to the traditional Egyptian and tribal artwork on the walls. He laughed, asking, “Did the old Professor not tell you? He’s probably hoping to talk me out of it! I’m coming to Luxor. It’s research for my next book.”

For the second time in two hours, Rey was sure she was about to faint. Fortunately, Lando interpreted her expression as her growing light-headed from lack of nutrition and immediately rang for dinner to be served. Rey barely registering that the food was _delicious_  as she shoveled it from the plate to her mouth. Eatingallowed perfect cover for her to sort through her roiling, chaotic thoughts. Pinching her leg under the table, Rey could only think: _How is this_ not _a dream? This cannot be my life._

#

Some three and a half hours later, after it was determined the four of them—Chewbacca, Professor Solo, Rey, and Lando—were to take a ferry upriver to Luxor the day following next, everyone was sufficiently stuffed with food and imported French port. Lando offered his arm to Rey. “Allow me show you to your room,” Lando insisted, his usual prim speech slurred with alcohol.

Not helping her grin, Rey accepted the proffered arm, resting her hand on his forearm, and allowed herself to be guided from the dining room and back into the foyer to the staircase. Professor Solo and Chewbacca followed behind, neither displaying nearly the same affects of port. As host, Lando had declared he was obliged to match every glass his guests drank. He had held himself to this standard throughout the evening, much to everyone else’s growing mixture of annoyance and amusement.

Surprisingly enough, the stairs proved not to be a hindrance to Lando and, when they reached the top, he drew to a halt at the first door on the right. Giving Rey a key with a flourish, Lando said, “Make sure you lock up after yourself. I do have security patrolling the grounds, but this is still a major city and its really much better to be safe.”

“Of course,” Rey agreed, slightly touched by Lando’s obvious concern for her wellbeing. Accepting the key, she added, “Thank you and goodnight, Mister Calrissian.”

“And to you,” he replied.

Wishing goodnight to the Professor and Chewbacca, Rey let herself through the door, the three men not moving on down the hall until they heard the click of her door’s lock slide into place. Shaking her head affectionately at them, she turned to inspect her room.

It was a sizable bedroom with a balcony overlooking the front lawn. All the furniture was wicker save for a heavy oak wardrobe and the air was perfumed with sandalwood. Sniffing experimentally at it, Rey’s mouth twitched with the smallest of smiles as she shuffled farther into the room, exhaustion suddenly weighing heavily on her muscles. She suspected the sight of a warm, soft, inviting bed triggered it.

Glancing around, she noted her luggage was stacked neatly in a corner, their contents organized neatly away. Going to a door to the right of the balcony, Rey found herself peering into a bathroom. Flicking on the light, she began her bedtime ritual. Some time later, hair braided back for sleep and face cleaned of oils and dust from the day, she shuffled out, drowsy and close to tumbling into bed without bothering to change into her pajamas.

After drawing the curtains, she went to the wardrobe, prepared to rifle through for her nightgown only to freeze in shock, any thought of sleep entirely forgotten. A scream ripped from her throat.

Scuttling in reverse, narrowly avoiding bumping into a winged back chair and tumbling backwards, Rey barely dodged the swipe aimed at her head from a man entirely in black and wielding a glinting, mean dagger. He sprang from her wardrobe. She squeaked, dancing out of the path of yet another strike. Her hands scrambled, grasping and desperate, for a weapon to defend herself. She came up with nothing. Her mind, searching for a plan, was met with the same results: unthinking panic.

There were pounding footsteps from the hall and, with the approach of potential rescue, the man in black became more hurried. Though he wasn’t lackadaisical before, the flashing swipes of his dagger became near-blurs, impossible to dodge. The blade caught her cheek when she jumped at a hammering knocking accompanied by Han’s frantic voice calling: “Rey? Rey? What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Help!” she managed to choke out, ducking another swipe. This one caught the tip of her ear. Yelping, she acted on instinct. Lashing a quick foot, she managed to knock the man's right leg, temporarily perturbing his balance. The man’s hand flew out for a hold to steady himself and that hold happened to be Rey. With the unexpected tug on her wrist, Rey went sprawling across the floor, sliding on her stomach and propelled by the momentum. Heart hammering, breath lodging in her throat, she flipped onto her back, terrified and staring up at the man looming over her, dagger poised.

Many things happened all at once then: with a great crack, Rey’s door was splintered off its hinges, admitting a charging Chewbacca backed by Lando and Han. All three brandished pistols. They watched in horror as an assassin plunged the dagger down. In the last instant, she flung up a hand to halt the weapon’s progress and commanded: “Stop!”

To everyone’s astonishment, most particularly the assassin’s, he did. And, not only did the man stop, he seemed to have stopped being capable of any movement whatsoever.

Rey and the assassin blinked at each other in shock for only a moment before she was scrambling away and Chewbacca and Lando were going to pin the man’s arms to his sides. For some inexplicable reason, Rey knew the assassin wasn’t in need of restraint. He wasn’t physically able to move, let alone kill her, right then. “Security’s called the police,” Lando was saying. “They’ll be here to take him away soon.” Without another word exchanged, Lando and Chewbacca frog marched the assassin from Rey’s room.

She watched him with surprising calm, drowsiness resuming its hold on her, and she could only turn her sleepy gaze back to Professor Solo. Perhaps, she would think later, it was her body’s way of dealing with the traumatic experience: putting it aside until the morning to completely panic about, leaving the present to restorative sleep.

Now, staring at the Professor’s strange expression, her collectedness nearly evaporated. If she had to label it, she would think it somewhere between fascination and wariness. “What?” she demanded, incapable of any more intelligent inquiries.

For an instant, she was sure Professor Solo was going to answer, give her a deep insight into his thoughts, but then he shook his head. “We should probably leave for Luxor tomorrow,” was all he offered. He hesitated for a moment before taking the few steps forward, narrowing the distance between them to clap a hand on her shoulder. “You did good, kid. Get some sleep.”

Yet, what exactly Rey _did_ that was deemed ‘good,’ how Rey even did whatever it was at all, Professor Solo didn’t explain.


	2. Chapter 2

_October 22, 1940: Luxor, Egypt_

Rey hummed a nonsense tune as she hunched, staring intently down as her soft bristled brush dancing across the hard rock face. A delicate chiseling of Ma’at’s husband, Thoth, and his ibis head was appearing from the dust. Pausing to cough into the shoulder of her linen blouse, she continued her humming without indication of pause.

She was entirely absorbed in her work, unaware of the burn forming on the back of her neck. She was deaf to the volley of good natured insults being exchanged between Han and Lando going over her head and Chewbacca dictations into his recorder, carefully translating hieroglyphics. The outline of the temple, confirmed to be dedicated to Ma’at last May, was mostly unearthed from the sand. Walls, fallen pylons, and edifices were exposed to the Egyptian sun after thousands of years, all coated with hieroglyphics. Most of the symbols were unknown to them, much to the excitement of Rey and Professor Solo. What they did know, Chewie had started recording.

Rey was set to working carefully around the hypostyle hall, mapping out the bases of the pillars and finding sections of the alabaster columns, toppled by sandstorms and time. A permanent crick had developed in her neck, she was constantly red from the sun and wind, and her back ached when she stood. She loved every second of it. She savored waking in the morning to begin her work at the dig and was loathed to leave for the day or her daily trips to the market.

Glancing up, she studied the blazing sun overhead—relishing in referring to it as Ra—and found it to be approaching eleven. If she wanted to bike into Luxor and gather the excavation crews’ lunches in a timely manner, she would have to depart within the next few minutes.

Bundling up her brushes in her canvas kit, swinging it onto her back, she rose from her astute posture, knees cracking in protest. Taking only a moment to arch her back, working the sharpest pains out, she set off. Waving to the few workers she had become acquainted with over the past year, Rey threaded her way through the dig, smartly sidestepping emerging carvings. She was careful to jump over stakes marked with scraps of bright linens and smiled briefly down at the markers: it was the placement of where they believed the altar, if it survived, to be buried. Finally, she reached the main steepled tent, unloading her pack and grabbing her bike. She threw over her shoulder to Professor Solo and Lando, hunched over the workbench: “Heading into town! Be back soon.”

Professor Solo grunted in acknowledgement as Lando replied, “Get me some olives!” Rey was half way out of the tent flap when Lando added, “And some dog food…what do dogs eat?” He turned to Professor Solo.

Doubling back, Rey blinked at the two men. “What?”

“I’m not sure; jerky?” Professor Solo replied, voice distracted. He sketched a hieroglyphic symbol in his journal.

“And jerky,” Lando said, turning back to Rey.

"Why do we need dog food?” Rey asked, not to be deterred.

“The ambassador’s representative has a dog,” Lando replied, as if this was explanation enough. When Rey continued staring, Lando elaborated: “The American ambassador to Morocco is an old… _friend_ of the Professor’s. She’s the one who tipped him off about this temple being here. She’s sending her representative to check up on us.”

“Make sure we’re behaving,” Professor Solo grumbled, still not glancing up from his journal.

Rey lingered in the tent flap, waiting for either of the men to continue. Yet, when it became apparent the topic was exhausted, she chirped, “Special request for olives and jerky; on it.” With that, she was pushing her bike from the tent and hopping on, setting off at an easy cruising rate down the cleared path. She followed the circumference of the dig site, dinging her bell at Chewbacca, before zipping through the remainder of the Karnak complex and into the narrow streets of Luxor beyond. The rush of cool air was a welcome distraction from the fearsome heat on the dig site, and Rey smiled as she always did.

It was a short ride from the Karnak to the main market stalls of Luxor’s open-aired bazaar; Rey could navigate blindfolded. Since their arrival in Luxor the August before last, she had been traveling the route just before noon everyday. Their hotel provided breakfast and dinner, leaving them independent for lunch. Typically, Professor Solo would send his assistant to collect food for the midday meal but, after the attack in Alexandria, it had taken a large amount of convincing from Rey to prove she was perfectly capable of fulfilling her duties as assistant safely.

Though it was certainly no comfort that they never learned who, or why, the assassin was sent for Rey, Professor Solo finally relented. However, it was only after she made the market runs with Chewbacca for three months.

Leaning her bike against the side of a house, her customary spot, Rey hurriedly rolled down the sleeves of her blouse. It was pertinent to to respect the sensibilities of the locals. She continued into the market. First, she went to the fish stall, gathering the daily order of salted tilapia and catfish, and inquiring with the merchant after his newborn daughter as she counted out the coins due. When she had the basket nestled into the crook of her arm, she nodded her farewells to the fishmonger, continuing on.

The bazaar wasn’t as flooded with humanity as usual—it was Tuesday, most citizens still held over with groceries purchased on Sunday—and Rey enjoyed taking her time meandering through the thin, milling crowd. She nodded, exchanging polite smiles with the older ladies gossiping with the cobbler and was careful to avert her eyes as she passed the heavily robed priests. Though most people of Luxor accepted the strange Brits and Americans playing around in the sand, some couldn’t stand the idea of a woman being one of their numbers. Rey was careful to respect their opinions. Much of their work depended on the good will of the Egyptians and the fighting between the Brits and Italians stayed far away, but only the former was something Rey could influence.

Focused on averting her eyes, Rey did not notice the man blocking her path until she was bumping into his hard chest. Stumbling back, stuttering out a rushed “Oh, I’m sorry!” a pair of strong, steady hands latched onto her biceps, helping her regain her balance. Glancing up, Rey could feel her blood rushing to her cheeks, pooling.

Staring down at her from a great height was a long faced man with dark eyes that burrowed into her and quirked black brows. He was smiling, amused. Rey swallowed. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, sorry,” she offered after a pause, fully aware she was gaping and needed to say something.

Smile twitching, growing marginally, he replied, “Don’t worry about it.”

Rey’s eyebrows climbed upward and she gasped out, barely restraining herself, “Are you American?”

“Is it that obvious?” he replied, unable to resist her infectious excitement.

“Well, yes, but I love American accents,” Rey assured hurriedly.

“How fortunate; I love British accents,” he replied, his hands finally falling away from her shoulders. Rey wouldn’t admit, even to herself, that she was disappointed.

Ducking her head—she was well and properly blushing now—Rey replied, “Well, I was going to apologize for my accent, but thank you.”

“‘Apologize?’” he repeated, brows furrowing but smile remaining.

Thoroughly wishing the ground would open up below her and swallow her up, she replied: “Because it’s not all that interesting, by my reckoning.”

“I’d disagree,” he returned. After a moment, he added, “It’s certainly interesting to hear it in Luxor, of all places.”

“Oh, I’m here with an archeological dig,” Rey explained in a rush, grateful for the change in topic.

“Really?” Rey blinked at his genuine interest, more flattered than ever before. Seeing her surprise, he added, “I’ve always loved reading about archeologists. I never really had a head for all the research that went along with it, though.”

Shrugging modestly, Rey said, “It does take a lot of patience but I’m always saying it’s really the only thing I’m good at.”

“But what a thing to be good at,” the man countered.

Rey giggled in reply, _since when did she giggle?_  Valiantly ignoring her growing mortification, she offered, “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

He nodded before offering a hand. “I’m Kylo, by the way.”

 Accepting it, she shook and desperately fought an even stupider smile from spreading across her lips. “I’m Rey, nice to meet you.”

"And you. I wasn’t expecting to run into an English lady in the Luxor bazaar.”

“I guess I’m just an oddity.” Rey shrugged modestly. “Though, I’m not a lady; I’m too busy digging in the sand for that rubbish.” Kylo laughed and Rey quirked her eyebrows. “What? What’s funny?”

 He tilted his head, smiling down at her in a way that made her chest tighten strangely. “Just that you said ‘rubbish.’”

“What’s wrong with that?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” he assured quickly. “It was just cute.”

Impossibly, unthinkably, her blush darkened. “Oh, well, thank you.”

There was a pause and then Kylo was asking: “Do you get any free time from the excavations?”

“In the evenings, why?” Rey replied, too modest to think of the implications.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d let me take you out tomorrow night? You could tell me more about digging in the sand,” Kylo replied.

And, somehow—though she had just met this strange, handsome American man and this whole situation was straight out of a penny dreadful—she could only grin brightly and agree readily. “Sounds like fun.”

 

_October 23, 1940_

Rey, Chewbacca, and Han were gathered in the main tent; they had departed for the dig site before Lando emerged from his hotel room for breakfast. Rey had her diagram of the hypostyle hall spread out before them. “There are about eight column bases, which would make sense with the size of the perimeter of the hypostyle. But, the really interesting thing about the hieroglyphics on the fallen columns I’ve found is that there are a lot of references to Thoth _and_ Ma’at. There’s the story of Thoth’s role during a soul’s judgment and even Set.” She shook her head, drawing another sheath of paper from her stack of notes, indicating the hieroglyphics and portraits of jackal-headed Set, father of Thoth. The confusing aspect was it was almost unheard of for Thoth and Ma’at to be depicted as husband and wife. There were papyrus that did refer to them as such, but they were few and rare. Yet, nearly every word on the columns referred to the marriage. “It’s almost as though this was a temple to Ma’at _and_ Thoth.”

Crossing his arms, Chewbacca mused, “But I haven’t come across any mention of Thoth on the exterior walls or courtyard symbols.”

“The hypostyle is a far more intimate chamber, though. We could be looking at symbols that were only meant to be seen by very, _very_  important priests,” Professor Solo reasoned. “Like there is some kind of specific power in the knowledge of Thoth and Ma’at’s marriage.”

Rey was too occupied in staring down at her careful drawings of the hieroglyphs, ignorant to the significant, furtive looks exchanged between Chewbacca and Professor Solo over her head.

Leaning away, Rey sighed heavily, shaking her head. “I just don’t understand it.”

Neither Chewbacca nor Professor Solo offered a response, settling into silence as they all turned to their thoughts. The appearance of a young boy—the son of one of the local dig hires—interrupted them. He peeked into the tent, allowing a bright beam of light to wash across the workbench. “Professor Solo?” he asked. “There’s a man here to see you, sir.”

Professor Solo nodded. “Send him in.”

The little boy disappeared, the flap barely settling before it was pulled aside again. Instead of the slim, sticky boy , there stood a handsome young man dressed in a pilot’s khakis with a leather helmet in hand. A little white dog trotted along at his heels. Without pause or leave to enter, the young man strode in, extending a hand to each of the trio in turn.“Name’s Poe Dameron; it’s an honor to meet you, Professor Solo, and you, Mister Chewbacca.”

Chewbacca nodded in reply, polite and manly and silent, while the Professor indicated Rey. “This is my assistant, Rey Kenobi.”

Rey, much to her embarrassment, found herself the focus of Poe’s bright smile and she was sure she was growing a steady shade of pink. To her mild horror, she thought briefly that Poe’s charisma was far inferior to Kylo’s easy humor before hurriedly squelching the idea. She offered, amiably, “Good to meet you, Mister Dameron.” Glancing down, she smiled at the dog, now sitting dutifully at her master’s feet. “Who’s this?”

“My good friend, Bebe,” Poe replied. At Rey’s faintly arched brow, he explained, “I don’t really like to think of owning her but that more like we’re just a couple of buddies.” Bebe thumped her tail against the canvas flooring of the tent and Rey couldn’t help chuckling.

“Well, you’ve got an adorable ‘buddy,’” she offered.

Grinning brightly, Poe returned, “I appreciate it.”

Straightening, checking over to Professor Solo’s solemn expression, Rey excused herself. She gave a small wave to a happily panting Bebe before slipping from the tent. After living in the Egyptian desert for fourteen months with the members of the expedition as her only companions, she was more than attune to the Professor’s moods. It was plain to her trained eye that, whatever conversation he was about to have, he was dreading it greatly. She wasn’t keen on being privy to it.

#

When the tent flap fluttered closed behind Rey, Han didn’t waste a moment. “Are you here to make sure we’re behaving?”

“Professor Solo—” Dameron began with a sigh.

“You can tell Leia that I’m perfectly capable of running an excavation without being constantly checked up on,” Han bit.

 _“Han.”_ Chewbacca’s tone was a clear warning.

“Professor Solo,” Dameron tried again, “That’s not Ambassador Organa’s intention in sending me here.” When Professor Solo didn’t reply, glowering at Poe, Dameron explained in hushed tones, “We’ve received intelligence that a platoon of undercover Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht has arrived in Luxor with their sights set on your dig site. The Ambassador’s concerned for your safety, sir.”

Both Chewbacca and Han visibly paled at the mention of the Third Reich’s infamous ‘heritage hunters,’ a group of shameless, bureaucratic archeologists and treasur seekers, wanting to hoard the world’s riches and history. They found no qualms in stealing research and artifacts; artifacts that belonged to no man, but rather were meant to be in museums. They defaced history to fit the tight restraints of their Aryan idealism.

“You don’t think they’re after…?” Chewbacca asked, voice low, eyes round and turned to Han.

“It’s the only thing they’d be interested in,” replied Han, simply. His mouth was firmly set, grim.

“You haven’t found them yet?” questioned Poe into the tense silence. “Any signs?”

Han wished he was surprised Poe knew but then he didn’t put it past his wife to confide in him: it was only practical. If Poe was sent to Egypt, braving the fighting between the Brits and Italians to the north, he had every right to know the true extent of what was at stake.

Han shook his head singularly. “No, nothing.”

#

The remainder of the day, even the trip to the market, dragged on, long and dull. Though Rey usually found joy in her work, especially after the Professor assigned her to start excavating the sanctuary’s altar, her mind kept flitting to the mysterious reason behind Mister Dameron’s visit or, far more embarrassingly, Kylo’s brown eyes, easy smile, kissable lips—

She shook her head, willing away such thoughts. She had a job to do; it required complete concentration and most certainly did _not_ include daydreaming about the American she met in the bazaar, no matter how kissable his lips looked. Blushing, she dusted at the outline of the altar with furtive focus. She had never kissed anyone. Even if Kylo wanted to kiss her— _which_ , she thought, biting her lip, _would be rather nice_ —she didn’t have the faintest idea of how to go about reciprocating.

From the few romance movies that Niima Academy deemed acceptable to play or _Gone With the Wind_ or even Lando’s more steamy romance novels, she had a general idea of how kissing worked. There was quite a lot of passion involved and one wasn’t supposed to open their eyes. Beyond that general concept, she hadn’t the faintest. Worse yet, she couldn’t ask anyone for advice. Lando would find it hilarious, Chewie entirely uncomfortable, and she would much rather drown herself in the Nile than ask Professor Solo. Mister Dameron seemed like a good enough sport to be of assistance but she _had_ also just met him, ruling him out as a possibility.

It spoke to her limited resources for advise that she even considered asking Mister Dameron.

Sighing, shuffling to the right marginally to continue dusting, the slab of stone she was uncovering was unmarked thus far, Rey nearly toppled over in shock. A small, wet nose was pressed against her wrist in the gap of skin peeping out between her sleeve and work gloves. Yelp devolving quickly into peals of laughter, Rey found Bebe sitting at her side, thumping her tail. “Bebe!” she greeted, pulling off a glove to run her fingers through the dog’s soft, white fur. “Hello, beautiful girl.”

Bebe, panting and seeming to smile at her, thumped her tail harder. She stirred up a cloud of dust.

“Rey!” Lando called then, not far away. “We’re done for the day! Let’s pack up.”

“Okay, thank you!” Rey returned, waving her brush at him in acknowledgement before beginning to store away her tools in her kit. When finished, she slung the pack over her shoulder before gathering Bebe into her arms. She couldn’t spot Mister Dameron anywhere and she was worried about the little dog wandering off. Bebe was an awfully pretty dog, one that would fetch a high price from the right buyer if a particularly cunning person happened upon her. Rey couldn’t stand the thought of the little dog separated from her master, who she was so plainly devoted to.

After some searching, Rey and Bebe found Mister Dameron and Chewbacca in one of the smaller tents, hunched over Chewie’s notes on some of the unknown hieroglyphics. Watching them for a moment, Rey asked in way of announcing her presence, “Do you study archeology, Mister Dameron?”

Blinking up, Mister Dameron offered her a brief grin. “I’m a bit of an amateur, really.”

“I was hoping a fresh eye might be able to find something I couldn’t,” Chewbacca explained.

Rey nodded, mumbling, “Makes sense.” Hesitating for a moment, she put Bebe down, watching as she charged her master, before calling her goodbyes and turning from the tent, nearly running nose-first into Lando.

Steadying her by the shoulders and laughing, Lando questioned, “Where are you off to in such a rush, Rey?”

Returning his bright grin with a coy one of her own, Rey replied, “Well, if you have to know, I have a date and I’m going to be late if I don’t get going.”

Lando’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline, his smile only widening, as he teased, “You’re not going dressed like _that_ are you?”

Rolling her eyes and moving past him, hurrying for her bike, Rey called, “Bye, Calrissian!”

#

By some miracle, after the aid of hot curlers and coaxing from hairspray, Rey’s coiffed curls managed to not only be passable but perhaps even glamorous. Before hurrying from her cramped hotel room, she paused to admire herself in the cracked vanity mirror: her cotton blue lace dress, the only article of clothing she owned not beige or made of khaki, was perhaps too casual. Yet, its lovely deep v-neck collar and a layer of ruby red lipstick made her passably formal. Smiling at her reflection, she felt as lovely as Vivien Leigh or Hedy Lamarr.

Yet, stepping into Sofra’s, she might as well have been wearing a potato sack.

She had double and tripled checked the address, lingering outside the restaurant for a long, uncertain moment, trying to think of every reason to _not_ go in. She finally gathered her courage about her and took the metaphorical plunge. Now, staring around the restaurant, waiting for the maître-d’ to take notice of her, she was met with elegant ladies, handsome men, and the unmistakable stench of wealth. It was their perfume, their cologne, their natural scent, all mixing and mingling with delicate laughter; the concoction made Rey feel very small, very unimportant, and _very_ undressed.

She tugged along the seams of her dress’s full skirt self-consciously.

But then Kylo had emerged and was striding towards her, outfitted in tan trousers, a loose button down, and open sports jacket. He certainly was handsome—especially with that earnestly apologetic look he was fixing on her—but equally as casual as her. Relief rushed over her.

“Rey,” he greeted when he stopped before her, bending briefly to plant a swift kiss on her cheek. Rey pretended she wasn’t blushing a fierce red. She knew Americans were more prone to displays of affection; her mind flashed back to earlier speculations on kissing him. She tried very hard to not stare at his lips. “I’m sorry about this; one of my buddies recommended this place but I didn’t realize it was so formal.”

Seeing his honest embarrassment and glad it wasn’t her growing a faint shade of red for once, Rey could only grin good-naturedly. “Don’t worry.” She stole a glance at the few scandalized looks they were receiving. “It _could_ be kind of fun if we stayed just to see the reactions.”

Grinning broadly at the proposed game, Kylo offered her an arm, leading her back to the table he already acquired. “If it’s any consolation,” Kylo said, mouth lowered to her ear and hot breath gusting over her cheeks, “You look more gorgeous than any other woman here.”

“You shouldn’t lie just to boost my ego,” Rey replied, surprised at her own teasing.

“God’s truth,” Kylo insisted as he pulled out her chair. After the waiter came and went, collecting their drink orders, he prompted: “How long have you been in Luxor?”

“Well, not last August but the one before that. About fourteen months although it doesn’t feel like that long,” Rey returned. “What about you?”

“Not nearly as long,” he replied, smile easy though Rey had the distinct impression he was purposefully remaining vague. “I wish I could stay here; it’s just so removed from everything.”

Nodding understandingly, she offered, “It’s like a dream.”

“Exactly,” Kylo agreed, their smiles meeting. Time slowed. There was an odd sort of swooping in Rey’s chest and she hurriedly looked down, fidgeting with the silverware on the white tablecloth. After a moment, Kylo said, “So, tell me about the dig.”

“You really want to hear about that? I mean, its just sand and old rocks." Rey wrinkled her nose.

Kylo's grin was lopsided. “I love sand and old rocks. Though, aren’t _all_ rocks old?”

Conceding his point, Rey amended, “Fine: sand and rocks with old carvings.”

“Much better,” agreed Kylo.

Giggling far more than she should and attempting to hide her amusement behind a hand, she began, “Well, I’ve been assigned to work on a new section of the temple. It’s kind of a big deal for me, since I’m just the assistant. I’m uncovering the altar all by myself.”

“Which is good, I’m guessing?” ventured Kylo, smiling at her barely-contained excitement. She was practically shaking with nervous energy at the mention of her work.

“ _Good_? It’s excellent!” Rey enthused. At the quirk of Kylo’s brow, she elaborated, “Well, there’s an unbelievable number of new hieroglyphics carved into the temple. Also, a lot of the time, most of the sacred art would be focused around the altar.”

Nodding in comprehension, Kylo queried, “So the altar is the key to understanding it all?”

“Exactly. If I can dig up the altar and if it’s still in tact after all these years _and_ translate the hieroglyphics, then I could help discover a completely new vocabulary! It would be groundbreaking, especially since a woman has never really been apart of a big break through in Egyptology like this and it would…” she trailed off suddenly, ducking her head. “Sorry.”

“What? What are you apologizing for?” asked Kylo, eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s just…me, rambling. I’m sorry; I get carried away sometimes and I know I’m probably boring you and—” Rey began to stutter.

“Rey,” he interrupted and suddenly his hand was covering hers. She stared down at it. “I promise you weren’t boring me.”

“You know you don’t have to lie to boost my ego,” Rey replied, echoing her earlier line.

Chuckling, he assured, “I promise I’ll never lie to you.”

Rey spluttered for a moment: his statement had a implication of longevity. Yet, she didn’t know anything about Kylo Ren besides he was an American whose friends misguidedly recommended a lavish restaurant as the locale for a first date. Despite the mystery, despite the many lingering questions, she still found herself squeezing his hand and teasing: “Even if it does boost my ego?”

“Even if,” he agreed. Right about then, their waiter finally returned with a whiskey for Kylo and a sweet ale for Rey.

#

Kylo left Rey in the front lobby of the hotel with a kiss on the cheek and a wish for a goodnight. Watching his dark figure retreating down the cobbled street, a hollow longing settled in Rey’s chest. She scolded herself. She was no closer to learning anything about Kylo’s past even after spending nearly three hours wining and dining with him. She didn’t know if he was leaving Luxor the next morning or would be here for the next decade. Meanwhile, she would be returning to England in March and the expedition had to dig up substantial artifacts before then. Otherwise, their backers at Niima Academy and Barnett College would be highly displeased. That pressure didn’t allow for a relationship, and surely that was what Kylo was thinking after buying her a luxurious dinner?

Yet, watching him round the street corner, disappearing from sight, she wondered what walking through the streets of Luxor with him would feel like. What kissing in the shadows of the ruins, what spending lazy hours speaking of anything at all, what being held by his strong, limber arms, would feel like.

Biting her lip, reminding herself of her real dreams, her dreams worth chasing—of pursuing Egyptology, of establishing herself as an archeologist, as becoming the most famous female scholar in the field since Gertrude Caton Thompson—she turned from the street, crossing the foyer, and taking the grand staircase two steps at a time.

No sooner was she half way up the flight of stairs when the front, shuttered doors of the hotel were slammed open. The whole, sandstone structure shivered down to its base. Heart in her throat, memory immediately conjuring the image of the black-clad assassin, Rey pivoted sharply on her heel to find Chewbacca racing towards her, panic reflected in his eyes.

“Chewie? What’s the matter?” she managed to question around her shock.

“Fire! Fire, Rey, hurry! Come quick!” he sputtered out. “Get to the dig site; I’m getting Lando and Han.” With that, he was charging up the stairs, barreling past her and leaving only a gust of air. Rey stood stock still for an instant, a long instant that stretched into eternity, but then reality and comprehension seized firm hold of her. Her mind was screaming to run, _run._

 

_October 24, 1940_

Rey didn’t remember much of the night before; not after she reached the dig site. It was a blur of thick, suffocating smoke, tongues of red and orange licking the starless night sky. Flames born from cobalt hearts. The crew attempted to save the thick stacks of notes, carefully rolled sketches of the dig site, and field journals; they pulled down the exterior tarps of the tents, shoveling sand on them but it was fruitless. It was an action taken too late: almost all the research was destroyed. Now, with the early morning sun providing a harsh reality to the dig site and revealing toppled tent rods, the smoking workbench, ashen and shriveled paper, Rey wished she could forget this sight, too.

Sucking in a deep breath, allowing it to expand in her chest until her lungs strained against her ribcage, she released the air in a heavy gust. The weight in her heart remained.

She didn’t turn when Chewbacca moved to her side, sensing him at her elbow without needing to look. “Who would do this?” Rey asked but didn’t expect an answer. She was questioning him, the dig site, and maybe even all of Luxor. The city was visible from beyond the ruins of the temple, spreading out under the morning sun and looking so clean, crisp, and new.

“All of our work was destroyed except for the notes you took on the altar yesterday,” Chewie spoke after a heavy pause.

“What?” Rey demanded, rhetorically, now staring up at Chewie. “I put my notes in my kit. They should have been in the smaller tent.”

“Professor Solo took them back to the hotel last night to go over; he wanted to see what you discovered about the altar,” Chewbacca explained.

Turning to stare at the altar, only the top slab of it visible from its burial place submerged in the sand, Rey replied, “Well, he picked the wrong bedtime reading. I found absolutely nothing of value yesterday.” Chewie made a noncommittal hum, offering no reply beyond. It was Rey who broke the silence, sighing in disgust and muttering, lowly, “You don’t think this was the work of the Italians, do you?”

There was a fear the fighting in the north would trickle down to Luxor. Yet, Rey couldn’t think of a reason for the Italians to sabotage an archeological dig run by an American professor. Rumors abounded of the United States entering the European grudge match that was the second World War, but surely that couldn’t be a factor in wanting to disrupt scholarship? What could possibly be gained other than pissing off a handful of academics and their Luxor crew?

“I think you’re blaming the wrong country in the Axis,” Chewbacca replied.

This gave Rey pause. “What? What are you saying?”

But she never discovered Chewbacca’s meaning as, just as he opened his mouth, hesitation clear, Professor Solo came stumping towards them. His face was like thunder. Excusing himself from Rey, Chewbacca hurriedly went to speak with him, ready to mitigate the Professor’s anger. Rey watched the pair for a moment before turning her eyes back to the dig. Lando and some of the Luxor crew members were resurrecting the scaffolding, repairing the heavily charred sections, while Poe, Bebe on his heels, ferried water to them.

Despite herself, a smile twitched on her face for a bare moment. Even without all their research, she still had something to show for fourteen months in the desert: a family, as makeshift and strange as they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Kylo being genuine with Rey? What are his true intentions? And who set the excavation site on fire? Don't they know the research and artifacts belong in a museum? There are so many questions and no answers! Tune in next time; xoxo, Gossip Girl (I'm dramatic...)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we plunge in, I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who's commented, kudo'd, or even read. I'm so grateful for all your love, support, and am pleased you all are loving playing in the sand as much as I am! 
> 
> Now: onwards!

_April 17, 1926: Niima Academy for Girls, Jakku, England_

Grief was crashing over her, crushing her small form, and she thought her chest was going to cave in with pain. Her eyes ached with tears; her nose ran with mucus; her throat felt as though it was scrubbed raw. Someone, someone far off and muffled, was crying, wailing, keening like a small, wounded animal.

It wouldn’t be until much later, a week later when Teacher found her curled into an alcove the library, that she would recognize it was her who wailed so loudly. She was wailing then, too.

But, for now, she didn’t give it much thought. Her balled up fists hammered against the foggy glass pane of her dormitory room as she kneeled on the thin cotton sheets of her assigned bed. Her focus was entirely fixed on the front lawn and gravel drive below. Desperation clawed at her, rising from her stomach until it overcame her. “No, no, _no!_ ” she gasped, watching as the two most beloved people in her life, her father, in his usual navy and charcoal suit, and her mother, in her lovely burgundy dress, said their farewells to Headmaster Platt. With only a brief glance up, the tears in Mamma’s eyes reflecting the late morning sun, her parents slid into the Hatfield Coupe, doors slamming shut behind them with finality.

 _“Come back_! Please, please, _come back_!” Rey screeched, pounding her fists harder until the windowpane rattled in its frame. Still, her parents didn’t emerge from the Coupe. Instead, the engine turned over and the automobile lurched forward.

Rey hollered louder, tears choking her panicked cries. She didn’t notice. All she knew was she had to call them back; they were forgetting her. They couldn’t leave her in this dark, drafty boarding school. She belonged with her Mamma and Papa. She didn’t belong _here_.

Underneath her wails, there began an undertone of rattling and clanging. At first, it was indistinguishable from the crying but then it grew, a crescendo of grief, until the metal frame of her bed, her freshly packed wardrobe, and the drawers in her dresser rattled as if undergoing a magnitude seven earthquake. Staring, fear tightening her throat and choking off her hysterics, Rey pried her hands from the windowpane, scrambling back and tumbling backwards off her bed. Blinking up, mouth agape, she saw her hairbrush and dolls, once arranged neatly on the dresser’s top, levitating two feet into the air.

A terrified scream ripped from her throat, Rey flipping to bury her face in her blankets.

But, with her screech, the dolls and brush crashed down, landing with a great clatter atop the dresser. The remainder of the furniture stilled. Hiccupping, swiping vainly at her nose, she couldn’t make sense of the strange anomaly. All she knew was that, at six-years-old, she was completely alone.

 

_October 24, 1940: Luxor, Egypt_

By midmorning, it was apparent trying to salvage the charred tent tarps or blackened notes was an exercise in futility and Professor Solo gathered the expedition leaders and crew members around, standing atop a fallen column of the hypostyle. “Well, folks,” he began, his mouth a hard line of grim acceptance. “Looks like we’re starting from the ground up. I want everyone to continue working where they left off yesterday and for all new research to be kept inside secured rooms. If that means taking everything home with you every night, so be it. We can’t afford another huge lose like this; Barnett and Niima will have my ass on a platter.”

Rey pointedly ignored Chewbacca’s amused grin, knowing she wouldn’t be able to restrain a giggle. Now was certainly not the appropriate time for giggling.

“You got it, boss,” Lando spoke up.

Nodding with satisfaction, Professor Solo dismissed them with a muttered, “Alright, back to work.” The crew began to disperse.

Turning away from the Professor as he strode off in the direction of the pylons with Chewie, Poe observed to Rey, “I thought it was the Brits who were supposed to have a stiff upper lip.” He flashed her a joking grin.

 “Maybe he’s learned a thing or two from me,” Rey replied. She appreciated Professor Solo’s impressive show of self-restraint after the disastrous fire and was trying to emulate his admirable effort. Ma’at’s temple in Luxor hadn’t had research on it for over three thousand years; what were another few months?

The thought cheered her marginally.

“Yeah, maybe,” agreed Poe, laughing. “Well, back to work then. See you, Rey.” Glancing down at Bebe, he patted his pants leg as he set off. “Come on, Beebs.” Panting, tail waving like a miniature white flag, Bebe happily trotted off after her master.

Watching them go for only a moment, smile quirking her lips, Rey shouldered her pack and began to pick her way towards the altar and Lando. Announcing herself, she called: “Discover anything riveting?”

 Gusting out an airy chuckle, Lando replied, “No, of course. Don’t you know I’m just here to look pretty?”

Snorting, Rey scoffed, “No one’s buying what you’re selling.” Squatting to brush a hand over the thick top slab, not minding the dirt coating her hand, she rubbed at the altar until the yellowing alabaster gleamed, polished. Studying her fingers briefly, working her forefinger and thumb together, she asked, distractedly, “Your writing didn’t get burned too, did it?”

"Fortunately for my editor’s sanity, no,” Lando replied. Seeing her quirked brow, he added, “I have a deadline coming up in the middle of November and my editor is already anxious.”

Rey laughed softly, shaking her head before swiping her hands along her pant legs, not minding the stains, standing. “I’d better head into the market soon if it’s business as usual,” she observed, glancing up at the sun.

“Probably a good idea. A hungry and grumpy Han is never a pretty sight,” Lando agreed, falling into step with her as she began to set off toward the Karnak. She hadn’t ridden her bike from the hotel that morning, unsure of where to store its metal away from the sun. “Do you mind if I come along?” Lando asked.

“Well, it seems like you’re going to anyway,” Rey observed dryly.

“Definitely,” Lando agreed before contenting himself to a companionable silence. They threaded their way through the Karnak and into the narrow streets and alleyways of Luxor, Rey rolling down her sleeves as they went. When they reached the bazaar, Lando went ahead to the baker, leaving Rey to collect the usual basket of tilapia and catfish.

Just as she pocketed the spare coins from the fishmonger, a movement in the corner of her eye caught made her frowned. She turned to find Kylo standing at her side. She most certainly _didn’t_ bite her lip nor did her stomach give a pleasant flip-flop at the concerned, caring expression he was fixing on her. Moving away from the curious eyes of the fishmonger's stall, Rey greeted, “Kylo, hello! What are you doing here?”

Blatantly bashful, Kylo admitted, “I had to come see you and make sure you were alright.” At her confused brow furrow, he continued, “I heard that an archaeological dig caught on fire last night.”

Blinking up at him, Rey was momentarily stunned. Slowly, she began, “And, you assumed that…?”

Misreading her reaction, Kylo’s bashfulness only grew. “Yeah, I assumed it was your dig site and I probably shouldn’t have because you know what they say about assuming, it makes an ass of you and—”

Interrupting him by taking hold of his hand, Rey was very interested to see it was much larger than her limber, slender fingers. She smiled. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. Your assumption was right. It _was_ my dig…I was just…flattered that you were so concerned.” Her words were awkward but they did not hinder her tone's gratitude.

Grinning in relief, his eyes flashed down to take all of her in, inspecting her for any sign of injury. “Are you alright?” he asked, unnecessarily.

Pretending she didn’t flush under his burning eyes, Rey replied, “Yes, I’m okay.”

“And the dig?”

“We lost….” Rey’s breath caught in her throat but she still forced out: “ _Everything_ but…we’re trying to keep a positive attitude. We’re going to have a lot of work to redo but no one was injured, and that’s the important part.”

“You don’t know who did it, do you?” Kylo asked, concern still pulling down his lips.

“No,” Rey replied, voice turning hard. “Whoever they were…” She couldn’t properly articulate her rage so instead, simply shook her head fiercely, jaw tightening and teeth cracking together at the pressure.

After a pause, Kylo squeezed their still-joined hands. “I’m sorry,” he offered. It wouldn’t be until later that evening that Rey would wonder at his remorseful tone, as if he were personally involved.

But, at that moment, she only offered a grateful smile. “Thank you. And thank you for making sure I was alright.”

"Of course,” returned Kylo. “I had to make sure the old rocks were okay.” He paused, grin wide. “And you too, I guess."

Rey covered her mouth, flushing a brilliant red when she snorted. Kylo’s smirk only stretch wider. She wanted to protest his smug expression but found it simultaneously irritating and _wonderful_ , especially since it was directed at her. After a moment, Kylo checked his wristwatch and sighed. “I need to get going.”

“Okay,” Rey agreed. “And thank you again.”

Instead of replying, Kylo brushed a stray tendril of hair behind her ear, kissing her forehead. “I’ll see you soon. You and the old rocks stay safe.”

"I’ll try my best to look after them,” Rey promised, watching him turn and disappear almost as suddenly as he appeared into the maze of vendors and stalls.

After a long, happy pause, Rey lost in a happy daze, there was a cough. Jumping, she turned hurriedly to find Lando standing not far away, arms crossed and expression unreadable. There was no questioning if he saw Kylo’s affectionate and familiar farewell.

“Oh, hey,” Rey offered smoothly, lurching into walk, adjusting her basket of fish in the crook of her arm self-importantly. “Did you get everything?”

Lando fell into step with her, silent. Yet, as they continued through the bazaar and he remained mute, Rey’s nerves became weighty. Though she was sure she might die from embarrassment if Lando teased her, his silence, so heavy, meaningful one, was far more ominous.

#

The _Ament_ was the tiny, but well kept, hotel Professor Solo always insisted on staying in as insurance of good luck. It wasn't enough to ward of a sabotaging fire, it seemed.

The hotel dining room was typically littered with the fellow guests tucked into the small square tables when the expedition members appeared for dinner, freshly bathed after a long day on the site. Yet, that evening, with the crew not concluding their projects for the day until the sun was grazing the horizon, Rey, Lando, Chewbacca, Professor Solo, and Mister Dameron weren’t trooping in until approaching ten o’clock, rudely late by Luxor standards.

Fortunately for their ravenous appetites, _The Ament_ ’s head cook had a very large, very obvious soft spot for Professor Solo and often made a point of saving portions of her famous baklava for him and his expedition crew. Typically, the blatant favoritism would earn Han at least five minutes of teasing from Lando but, tired to his bones, wind burned, and sun blistered, he was simply grateful. They all were.

After all were served with generous mounds of macaroni béchamel, the cheese lazily flooding onto the maize flat bread, aish merahrah, and Mister Dameron secured an order of lamb for Bebe’s dinner, Professor Solo raised his glass of wine. The others did the same. “For taking the first steps to fix this big, shitty mess and not panicking about it.”

Chewbacca snorted and Rey bumped her knee with his under the table. Professor Solo ignored them.

“To us,” Professor Solo concluded, leaning forward to bump their glasses with his own before throwing back his glassful of cabernet sauvignon.

Sipping at his wine, Lando grinned as he watched the Professor. “Not exactly a conventional way of enjoying wine.”         

I needed it,” Professor Solo replied simply as the waiter, a young man Rey recognized and had failed at on multiple times at befriending, materialized at his elbow to refill the Professor’s glass. The waiter vanished as quickly as he appeared.

Rey, watching Professor Solo sip at his second glass far less enthusiastically, thought he was certainly right: after losing everything, he certainly _did_ need it.

A silence settled over them, too content to shovel food from their plates to their mouths, content on filling their bellies and draining their glasses, for conversation. It was when the eating slowed, less harried and desperate for nourishment that Rey finally prompted: “What _exactly_ is going on, Professor?”

Professor Solo stared at her briefly and Rey met his eyes evenly. She dared him to deny the implications of her question and tone; dared him to deny the rumors swirling amongst both the expedition and Luxor crew members. Rey may have spent midday in the markets with Lando, but she was not insusceptible to dig site gossip.

After a long moment, the Professor sighed, admitting, “I suppose you’ve all heard or have your suspicions.” No one replied, too keenly interested on what Professor Solo was going to say next. When it became obvious they weren’t going to prompt him, he continued with a sigh, “I believe the reason the dig was attacked was because of the altar.”

Rey’s face paled and suddenly she was very cold. Goosebumps raised her skin, dotting her exposed forearms and climbing up the nape of her neck. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart gave one heavy thump. Not outwardly exhibiting her confusion, she was bemused by her reaction to the declaration. It was as though, in some deep, instinctual, and primal area of her mind, she knew there was a truth,  _and a power,_ to the Professor’s speculations. An ominous, powerful truth.

Rey choked out, “‘The altar?’ It has scholarly merit, surely, but that wouldn’t warrant the dig’s destruction, right?”

“Is there anything to warrant the destruction of research?” Lando asked rhetorically, in one of his rare moments of solemn wisdom. No one could answer his question, every member of the expedition, and Mister Dameron, wearing identical expressions of muted rage.

Leaning forward, lowering his voice, Professor Solo explained, “Mister Dameron arrived yesterday with startling news that seems a little too coincidental.” He nodded for Poe to continue.

Mimicking the Professor, Mister Dameron leaned forward. “Ambassador Organa has contacts all over North Africa and, four days ago, we received intelligence that a platoon of Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschich were traveling upriver to Luxor. The Ambassador sent me immediately, not trusting the news to a telegram.”

Rey breathed out heavily, slumping back against her chair, staring at Mister Dameron and the Professor in equal measures of shock. Where, before, she was roiling with nerves, it now seemed she was completely devoid of emotions. She was a shell internalizing a bottomless shock. Glancing around the table, she found Chewbacca watching her in concern. She tried to give a short nod, a reassuring nod, but she was sure it was the opposite of convincing.

It was Lando who spoke then. “What could they possibly want with the temple of Ma’at?”

“There’s legends of her power; my guess its their hope to unleash it and use it to end this stupid war quickly and devastatingly,” Mister Dameron replied. Rey raised a brow, thoroughly confused. Surely the Germans weren’t so foolish to think they could harness ancient,  _and fictitious,_ magic and use it as a viable weapon in a war?

The others’ expressions offered no answers to her speculations. Rey decided she’d interrogate Chewbacca later.

“And they think its in our temple,” Lando said. Mister Dameron’s nod was the only reply. After a long pause, Lando articulated exactly what all of them were thinking, “Well, shit.”

“Which is why we have to continue digging around the altar as quickly as possible,” Professor Solo said. “If there really is some legendary power buried underneath those ruins, we’re going to find it first.”

“But what if they attack when we’re there? We can protect our research, but what about ourselves?” Rey asked, fingers twisting into a nervous knot in her lap. She wouldn’t hesitate to defend her hard work but facing Nazis was another dilemma entirely.

“It’s a risk we’re going to have to face,” Professor Solo answered, grimly. “Stopping them is more important than our wellbeing.”

Rey swallowed hard. She was scared, and she felt she had every right to be, but she agreed nonetheless. Next to her, Chewbacca shifted and soon one of his large hands was holding hers, giving it a comforting squeeze. She gave him a grateful smile.

Mister Dameron added, “The Ambassador is supplying all your replacement gear and I’ll make sure pistols are included in the order.” Rey wasn’t certain that was truly an assurance. She had never seen a gun outside of the movies, let alone shot another human.

“Speaking of the Ambassador, are you still planning on heading back tomorrow?” Lando asked.

With a drawn expression, Poe nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want to, especially after last night, but I’m concerned if I stay here longer than planned, I’ll draw suspicion. Egypt isn’t a friendly place for representatives of an American ambassador.”

“You do what’s best for you, kid. Don’t worry about us,” Professor Solo replied, clasping his shoulder briefly. “It now seems like the trick around here is staying alive.”           

Rey had only feared so greatly for her life once before and that was when she was faced with an assassin. Now, hearing the graveness in the Professor’s tone and his somber expression, she knew there was something— _something big—_ no one was willing to outright say. The attack last night was about more than building a pyre for research. The arrival of the Germans was more than a hunt for phony magic. She knew the Germans wouldn’t hesitate to kill them if they got in the way but now, staring around the table, she wondered if they wouldn’t hesitate either.

Frowning, Rey fought back a yawn but ultimately failed, reduced to shielding her wide, gapping mouth with a hand. Lando watched her and then rose from the table, saying, “Alright, Rey. I’ll walk you up to your room.”

“What? But what about dessert?” Rey protested, blinking as he rounded the table to stand at her chair’s side.

"Nope, we all saw that yawn. Bed; let’s go,” Lando replied decisively.

Shaking her head and pretending to not notice the palpable tension, Rey squeezed Chewie’s hand one last time. Wishing a goodnight to the men, she allowed Lando to steer her from the room. She knew, just as Lando knew she knew, the men wished to discuss something without her knowledge. Chewbacca often told her she was much too young to know of some of the more delicate business of the dig and Rey didn’t argue the point, knowing all the while it was a flimsy cover.

Being escorted to her room for the evening was not uncommon either. After Alexandria, the men took turns walking Rey to her hotel room and inspecting it for intruders. Surprisingly enough, perhaps it was coping mechanism, Rey was unruffled from her close encounter with the assassin. Reflecting on it, an unshakable sureness settled over her that she was truly never in danger of death.

It was an odd sureness, one she preferred not to think about it. It confused her too greatly.

As they entered the foyer of _The Ament,_ heading for the grand staircase, Lando began, “Rey, we have to talk about that man in the bazaar today.” Rey remained silent, knowing her face was heating. “Kylo’s dangerous; he can’t be trusted. I don’t know the extent of your relationship with him but you need to cut it off right now.”

“ _What_? Why?” Rey protested, staring up at him in shock as they ascended the stairs. “How do you know him?”

Lando shook his head. “That’s not my secret to tell, Rey.” Her eyebrows jumped. “All I can say is he’s bad news; really, really, _really_ bad news. Just promise me you’ll stay away from him.”

She bit her lip, wishing desperately she could demand the truth from him but also recognizing the legitimacy in Lando’s words. After all, Kylo refused to talk about himself. Certainly that meant an unsavory past with secrets, one that spelled bad news for her no matter how kind or handsome he appeared.

Her voice was weak, hesitant. “Yes, of course. I promise.”

 

_October 26, 1940_

True to intentions, Professor Solo set the expedition and Luxor crew members on excavating around the sanctuary and altar of the temple. Over the past day and a half, they had made astonishing progress. Where once only the top of the altar was peeping out of the dunes, the whole of the sanctuary had been excavated, revealing pale yellow marble flooring fissured with brown webbing. What little remained of the walls depicted Ma’at, colorful plumage spread wide, facing her husband, Thoth, armed with papyrus and a stylus. Curiously, Thoth was depicted as a man. There were very few accounts of him without an ibis head and Chewbacca, Professor Solo, Lando, and Rey had spent the better half of three hours conferring before deciding the portrait was indeed Thoth.

Returning from the midday meal, Rey crouched before the altar, her heavy pen and journal arranged in her lap. She had spent most of the morning staring at the hieroglyphics on the altar in varying degrees of fascination, frustration, and exasperation. It was an unending cycle. Now, arranging herself, cross-legged, she hunched in concentration, staring at the carvings with their faded paint.

There were twin cartouches, bearing the familiar names of of Ma’at and Thoth, joined to signify marriage and this was odd in itself. Gods’ names were rarely presented in cartouches—Egyptians were fearful of the power of names. Complicating matters were, underneath the names, lines of conjoined hieroglyphics, known symbols paired with ones Rey had never seen before, and it only served to annoy her. Leaning back, she set the pen in her journal, marking her page, before setting it aside. She nibbled at her lower lip: ‘hieroglyphics’ translated to ‘mdw·w-nṯr _,’_ or ‘god’s words,’ in Egyptian. Perhaps there was some significance in the gods’ cartouches presiding over the rest of the script.

 _Very good,_ a voice whispered in her ear. Rey froze, heart pounding. She glanced hurriedly around; no one was near enough for her to have been able to hear them whisper. She wasn’t able to discern if the voice was male or female. There certainly weren’t any other women around and all the men on site weren’t exactly capable of whispering at the best of times.

When she returned her attention to the altar, frown tugging down at her mouth, her breath caught in her throat. Arms flailing, a pinwheel, she toppled over backward in shock, gasping out: “Holy shit!”

Lying on her back, she craned her head up and gaped, blinking at the altar. Her eyes hadn’t initially deceived her. Where only moments before were hieroglyphics of indeterminable meaning, there now was English writing, as plain as the _Oxford English Dictionary_ or her copy of _Methods and Aims in Archeology._ Rey rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes before blinking hard again.

 Still there.

She scrambled to her knees, grabbing up her journal and hurriedly transcribing the message: _Place your heart upon the scales and allow it to be weighed; sink onto your knees and pray to the winged gods for mercy; search below the unmovable and find your redemption._

Frowning down at her hurried writing and then back up to the altar, Rey muttered, “Look below the unmovable.” She reached a hand, unconsciously tracing the English writing. Yet, her fingertips weren’t met with the chiseling of Latin lettering but the outlines of the hieroglyphics. “What?” she mumbled and, in an instant, the English writing had dissolved back into its former script. “ _What the hell?”_

This time, when the mysterious voice spoke, it tickled her ears, reminding her gently: _Focus._ Rey was sure it wasn’t her imagination in thinking the voice sounded amused. Pressing her hand against the altar now, her eyes widened as she was met with solid, unrelenting alabaster. “ _The unmovable_!” she declared.

#

It took nearly two hours and the combined strength of the entire crew to budge the altar even a centimeter. Yet, once it began to move, they found the altar both hollow and on an ancient track, allowing it be slid. Professor Solo oversaw the efforts of the crew, occasionally cutting a glance over to Rey.

When asked, she dodged the questions of how she managed to decipher the meaning of the mysterious symbols on the altar. Yet, Professor Solo suspected the truth, somehow. She could tell from the glint in his knowing eyes when she caught him staring at her. He suspected something and knew it was related to her strange display in Alexandra, just as she innately did.

She shoved the thought aside. Magically changing hieroglyphics and forcing her will on an assassin was more than she wished to think about, especially as the altar moved aside to reveal a staircase leading into a pitch blackness. She preferred to ignore such speculations, as she had done for the past fourteen months.

The crew stood around the revealed pit, all in complete silence as they stared down the stairs, thinly coated with sand that had managed to seep in over the centuries. The Professor was the first to break the silence, ordering, “Lando, Chewie, Rey: get flashlights, the portable radio, and your kits. We’re going in.”

Rey's heart fluttered and she hurried to follow orders, stowing the pen and her journal with its strange translation into her canvas pack. When all had regrouped, Professor Solo ordered the remainder of the crew to stand at the ready should anything happen and they needed to evacuate the strange tunnel in a hurry. With that, he declared, “Well, gentlemen and lady, we might be on verge of the biggest find in Egyptology. Good luck.”

Without pause, he switched on his flashlight and began a careful descent downward. Lando followed next, pausing to allow the Professor ample time to proceed, before doing much the same. Chewbacca and Rey watched them go, Rey’s hands growing clammy around her silver flashlight. Chewie nudged her. “You’re next, Rey. This _was_ your find, after all.”

Offering him a brave smile, Rey nodded. Taking a moment to stare down at her flashlight, switching it on with a focused determination, Rey took a stealing breath and forced herself to take the first step into the dark abyss. It was pierced by the faint beams of light from the Professor and Lando’s lights ahead.

A weighty gravity, clenching at her throat and settling in her chest, pulled Rey down the stairs. She felt a complete _rightness_ to descending downward and the sensation frightened her almost as much as the hieroglyphs had. Casting her light down, she blinked hard into the darkness, discerning the outlines of Lando and Professor Solo not far below, having reached a tunnel floor and moving along at a careful pace. Behind, Rey heard Chewie beginning to make his descent.

The expedition proceeded in a solemn, heavy silence, no one daring to speak. Professor Solo led with caution, more than aware of the elaborate, and often unpleasant, anti-thief countermeasures Egyptians were famous for, hoping to deter an opportunistic robber. Yet, they encountered no sudden dropouts or pits, the passage leading straight and true. Perhaps the temple builders thought the heavy altar was enough deterrence.

Finally, there appeared a faint, natural light ahead and the passage opened into a wide, columned chamber. Rey gasped as she followed Lando and Professor Solo in, barely having enough sense to step out of the way for Chewie. Her mouth went slack. She stared up at the high ceilings, light filtering in though Rey couldn’t discern from where and around at the elaborate hieroglyphics. The chamber was alabaster white and as pristine as a mausoleum. With the height of the ceilings, the passage must have sloped as it went along, taking them far underneath the other temples of the Karnak.

“Wow,” Lando breathed out.

Rey only nodded stupidly.

Her eyes had alighted on painstakingly detailed depiction of Ma’at, painted in bright colors unlike any artifacts Rey had ever seen before. She was drawn to it of all the other marvelous hieroglyphics in the chamber. She crossed the alabaster floor in slow steps, eyes fixated on Ma’at. The goddess was shown as she traditionally was: kneeling, blue wings unfurled and headdress of a single ostrich feather adorning her long, black hair. Her eyes were turned to the scales of judgment, framework a deep ebony and the scales’ pendulums suspended by gold thread. Rey traced trembling fingers over the scales; one pendulum held Ma’at’s legendary feather while the other depicted the ib—the heart, believed to a part of the soul. Opposite Ma’at was Thoth, again depicted without an ibis head.

Blinking, Rey stared at Thoth, somehow finding the rendering familiar.

Before she could place it, there was a loud shout, most certainly not in English, and she turned hurriedly over her shoulder. A surprised gasp rushed out her throat.

Flooding into the chamber, trapping the members of the expedition against the walls where they had naturally gravitated, was a platoon of soldiers. They were identical with their beige shirts, wide black trousers, tall riding boots, and red armbands. Worse yet, they all brandished mean, glinting pistols. But, Rey only spared the infantry men a moment’s glance, her eyes settling on the man striding in next to a redheaded colonel. Her initial shock was replaced with a sudden, violent rush of betrayal.

The man was unmistakable with his dark hair, long features, and tall stature. Kylo Ren.

“ _You!”_ she hissed, fists balling against her side and unwaveringly meeting Kylo’s stare with a fearsome glare.

“Rey—” he began to say, approaching her with hands out, placating.

The redheaded colonel at Kylo’s snapped out, “Ren. Control yourself.” Kylo, chastised, dropped his hands lamely and stepped back to his place at his commander’s side. The Colonel, satisfied with the submission of his subordinate, turned to Professor Solo. Kylo, following his attention, stiffened at the sight of the Professor's fearsome scowl.

"Han Solo, we must thank you. It looks like you’ve done all of our work for us,” the Colonel began.

“Henry Hux,” the Professor sneered in return. “I should’ve known you’d join with them. You’ve never had any integrity; always too focused on your own personal gain.”        

“Come, come now, Professor,” Colonel Hux replied, laughing lightly. “No need to cling to past resentment. Everyone knows you had no chance of Oxford giving you the Disney Chair over me. How’s your silly little American college, by the way?”

The Professor’s expression was very close to a snarl. “What do you want, Hux? Have you come to set our dig site on fire again?”

“No, we can’t do the same thing twice,” Colonel Hux replied, meeting Professor Solo’s expression pleasantly. “I think we’ll just shoot you all and take up where you left off. Very nice of you to lead us straight to this exquisite chamber.”

“What you’re looking for isn’t here, Hux,” Professor Solo warned.

“Aren’t they?” Colonel Hux asked, drawing his pistol from his hostler. “Or are you just trying to lie to me? Maybe I could persuade you to tell the truth.”

Professor Solo remained carefully still as Hux took slow steps towards him, keeping careful watch on the snout of the gleaming pistol. “They’re not here,” Solo insisted. “Read the hieroglyphs. It says they’re at the delta of the River of Time. And you know just as well as I do where the river lets out.”

“The Duat,” Hux answered, distractedly, staring over the Professor’s shoulder. As if forgetting their confrontation, the Colonel brushed passed the Professor, going to study the wall behind him. Rey watched, growing more confused with every passing second. What did the Egyptian land of the dead have to do with the Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht?

Before she could discern any more information, Professor Solo was shouting, “ _NOW_!” Suddenly, Chewbacca, Professor Solo, and Lando all had pistols in their hands and  Chewie was running for her, dodging behind columns to protect against the sudden maelstrom of bullets clogging the air, latching onto her arm. He bodily tugged her along.

Rey wasn’t sure when she started screaming but she felt it the right thing to do.

They charged around the perimeter of the chamber, the soldiers forming a tight clump at the center, a tactical attack strategy reminiscent of the Romans, and somehow, miraculously, the bullets only whizzed past their ears. Rey was too focused on forcing one foot in front of the other, heart pounding in her ears, to notice. Her eyes were fixated on the archway where Lando and Professor Solo took refuge, returning fire when they were able.

Just as they tumbled through the arch, Chewie cried out in a loud, baying bellow of pain.

 _"Chewie_!” Rey cried.

“Don’t worry about me, kid; run!” he assured, sweat beginning to bead as he released his hold on her arm to grasp at the blood already coating his right arm. He led the charge up the passageway, Lando and Professor Solo falling into a hard run behind Rey.

Boot heels slapping stone echoed through the passage, deafening them, and Rey glanced briefly over her shoulder. She wished she hadn’t, her heart jumping into her throat. It was a miracle they had managed to evade being fatally shot until that point but, with the jackbooted soldiers congesting the passage behind them, there was no conceivable way they’d make it out alive.

Crying out in exasperated, desperation, Rey shouted, “ _Goddammit_!”

There was no immediate response, save the thundering footsteps.

It started softly, a low rumble. The ceiling trembled. The world seeming to lurch. Rey, nor any of her friends, allowed their pace to slow as fissures shot through the ceiling overhead nor did they stop to look when there was a loud crack, plumes of dust gusting past them. The stone overhead caved in. Cries of pain bounced though the passageway and then the only footsteps were their own.

They did not dare to slow, hurtling up the stairs and bursting out into the blistering Egyptian sun. “We have to get to Morocco!” Professor Solo shouted over his shoulder. The others silently agreed, not allowing their rapid pace to flag.

Rey only had enough recognition to note their Luxor crew members were nowhere in sight and she was filled with a brief hope that they had managed to escape unharmed. But then, she crashing into a very solid, very warm body. She and the mysterious person tumbled to the hard yellow marble of the unearthed sanctuary in a tangle of limbs.

Shrieking and scrambling to unravel herself, Rey cried, “Get off, get off!”

“Sorry; I’m so sorry!” the very solid, very warm body replied, his voice low and distinctly American.

Rey, already back on her feet, stared down at him. “ _American_?” she demanded, exasperated after a moment. “I’ve had it up to _here_ with Americans right now!” She raised a hand above her hand to illustrate her announcement.

“ _What_?” the boy asked. He couldn’t have been much older than Rey and, on any other occasion, she would have felt sorry for him, staring up at her with such clear confusion as he was.

Only shaking her head and snorting in reply, Rey set off again, hurrying to catch up with Lando, Professor Solo, and Chewie. She was too focused on pushing her feet faster, lengthening her strides longer, and pumping her arms harder that she didn’t notice the boy following her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so pleased we've finally introduced Finn; we all needed some more precious cinnamon roll in our lives. Also, quick housekeeping note: how do you all like the formatting? This is the first fic I've used indenting for but do you like it or is it hard to read? Let me know; I'm here to make your reading experience easy on the eyes! 
> 
> Thank you!


	4. Chapter 4

_June 6, 1939: Niima Women’s College, Jakku, England_

It was the last day of term and Rey had made a point of dressing her best. Her plaid skirt and cream sweater were worn, frayed at the sleeves and waist but not to the same extent as her other clothing. All of her outfits were secondhand, discovered in the dark corners of resale shops or bestowed upon her by a benevolent friend, and she always took extra care with her hair and lipstick. She operated in the hope that it would remedy the remainder of her appearance.

Now, sitting at her usual seat in the front of the lecture hall for Advanced Egyptology Studies, taught by visiting Professor Han Solo from Barnett College, she desperately wished she had borrowed a dress or skirt suit. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater down, hiding her bitten nails, and glanced once more at the clock.

 _Five more minutes_.

Professor Solo had officially closed the application deadline for his assistantship in early May. The applicant had to be in their last year of university, interested in archaeology, and a great enthusiast of Ancient Egypt. Although it was open to any student in both the United Kingdom and the United States, Professor Solo announced only last week he was down to two candidates; both, astonishingly, from Niima Women’s College. The new assistant would be announced at the end of class on the last day of term, just before exams started.

Rey wasn’t foolish enough to think she was the smartest or most qualified girl in her grade level—Mary Beth Turner and Penelope Westover excelled far past her in etiquette and literature—but she certainly was the most knowledgeable about archeology and Egypt. She refused to allow herself to think negatively, focusing on optimistic thoughts of being one of the last, chosen two.

She supposed it was just another story she told herself; another childish fantasy she convinced herself of just to give her the courage to roll out of bed in the morning.

Not properly listening to Professor Solo as he sketched a series of hieroglyphics on the chalkboard, Rey deciphered the meaning with a quick glance as an idiom rendered into symbols: _Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt._ She stole a glance over at Penny Westover. She resisted the keen urge to glare at her. In truth, Rey held no ill will towards Penny, one of the few other girls who had gone through the primary and secondary boarding school of Niima before being fed into the college with Rey. This didn’t keep Rey’s stomach from twisting in hatred at the thought of perfect Penny Westover in Egypt, excavating ruins and discovering sacred artifacts.

“Who can translate these hieroglyphs for me?” Professor Solo was saying when Rey tore her eyes away from Penny.

Penny, who had been scribbling in her notebook and referring to the textbook, busily translating, raised her hand eagerly. After being pointed to, she answered in her prim, North London accent: “It says ‘Rob’s your monkey and Fanny’s your uncle.’” She giggled then, adding, “Very peculiar, isn’t it?”

It may have been his flat, nasally American accent but Professor Solo’s tone seemed distinctively unimpressed and not the slightest bit amused. “Peculiar, Miss Westover, because it isn’t correct.” Penny visibly deflated. “Does anyone else want to take a guess?”

Glancing around, Rey found her classmates’ expressions mollified. Though she preferred not to speak in class most of the time, she learned her lesson in year six when some of the older girls taunted her for being a ‘know-it-all,’ Rey raised her hand reluctantly. She wouldn’t be able to stand sitting in silence for the next four minutes. Her nerves were thrumming with anticipation; she might as well make use of her nervous energy.

After Professor Solo gestured to her, she replied, “It says: ‘Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt.’”

“Correct,” Professor Solo replied, shooting her a wide grin for only a moment before plucking up the chalk again and beginning to mark out subtle changes in the symbols that helped distinguish Rey and Penny Westover’s answers.

Rey listened distractedly, coaching herself to not look over at Penny Westover, knowing she wouldn’t be able to subdue a smug grin.

Next Rey knew, Professor Solo was setting aside the chalk, going to pack up his briefcase. The girls around her began to shuffle together their notes, readily recognizing their dismissal. “That’s all I’ve got for you this semester, ladies. I’ll see you on Tuesday morning for the final exam. My office hours are posted on my door if anyone has any last minute, burning questions,” Professor Solo said over the occupied din. “If not, have a wonderful summer break.”

Rey didn’t move, not believing her ears and taking no notice of the movement, the other girls swirling around her. Professor Solo hadn’t mentioned the assistantship, he had almost completed packing up his briefcase, he had entirely forgotten. Her fingers gripped at the top of her desk, turning white and cold. The chill seeped up into her hands, her arms, her heart until she was numb all over. She blinked back tears.

This couldn’t be possible. Professor Solo had said the last day of class, just before exams started, and _today_ was that day. Rey tried so hard to be patient, so hard to remain calm and not allow herself to linger on her anxious anticipation. But now, watching dumbly as Professor Solo strode out of the classroom, she could only conclude he decided on a student from another university after all.

It _did_ make sense; Niima was entirely for girls and it wasn’t practical to take a woman assistant to Egypt—or so Rey consoled herself as she began to shuffle together her notes. But, she knew it to be a flimsy attempt at self-solace. Professor Solo had spent a lengthy unit leading them in studies on female archeologists like Gertrude Caton Thompson and Dorothy Garrad. He was more than aware of a woman’s ability to match and excel past her male colleagues.

 _No, that isn’t the reason_ , she told herself, harshly. _It’s just because you weren’t good enough and there’s no use in telling yourself otherwise._

She really had to stop allowing herself to live in these fantasies. She never had a prayer at the assistantship.

Sighing, she finally boasted herself up, aware of the unnatural stillness the lecture hall had been plunged into after the mad rush. Her classmates had practically clambered over each other, scrambling for the exit, eager to claim a patch of grass on the quad and study in the sunshine. Stuffing her notes in her satchel, Rey shouldered her bag briefly before shuffling to the door, eyes flickering over the hieroglyphics still scrawled across the board.

She paused, frowning. The hieroglyphs no longer read ‘Bob’s your uncle and Fanny’s your aunt.’ Professor Solo must have changed them after Rey answered his question when she wasn’t paying attention. Halting, staring at the board with a thoughtfully drawn brow, Rey’s eyes darted over the symbols. They were uncommon and in an order she hadn’t seem before. From their arrangement, the formal syntax, and diction, she assumed they were apart of an incantation or spell. Stepping up to the board, retrieving the chalk, she began to work her way through the meaning. A minute of work passed before she shuffled back, swiping a hand to tuck a stray hair behind her ear and leaving chalk dust. She stared at the decoded message.

An abrupt voice, readily recognizable: she had listened to it lecture for the whole semester, made her jump. “It takes most professional Egyptologists ninety seconds to translate that. You did it in sixty.” Rey whipped around to find Professor Solo, briefcase set at his feet, standing not far into the lecture hall, arms crossed and studying her with a curious expression. An expression Rey couldn’t quite describe.

Ducking her head, Rey replied, “It was nothing, sir.”

“‘ _Nothing_?’” repeated Professor Solo, his tone borderline reproachful. “Kid, you’ve got a gift.” When Rey didn’t immediately reply, too interested in studying her freshly polished Mary Jane shoes, he asked, “What’s it say?”

Turning back to the chalkboard almost gratefully, Rey read off without needing to cite her own scribbling in English underneath: “‘My mouth has been given to me that I may speak with it in the presence of the Great God.’” She dared to glance back at Professor Solo. “It’s a spell from the Opening of the Mouth ceremony, isn’t it?”

Professor Solo’s mouth twitched into a grin. “Very good,” he praised as he came to stand beside her, both of their eyes staring at the chalkboard. “You know, I left this up here just to make sure you’re the right choice.”

“‘Right choice,’ sir?” Rey questioned, heart hammering at the implications but too modest to ask outright.

“Right choice to be my assistant, of course. I had to make sure you were ready for traveling to Luxor with me and this confirmed it.”

Rey’s face erupted into a bright grin, smile wide and hurting her cheeks from its magnitude. She wanted to throw her arms around Professor Solo and hug him in tight gratitude, she wanted to skip around and sing, she wanted to shout the news at the top of her lungs. Yet, instead, she sternly reminded herself to remain composed. The assistant to famed archeologist, Han Solo, most certainly did _not_ sing or skip. “How does this prove I’m the right choice?” she queried. If this was a test she just passed to secure the job of her dreams, she wanted to know the precise nature of what could have been her downfall.

“These hieroglyphics and the syntax are advanced far beyond what we learned in class. For you to translate them perfectly would mean you did a lot of extra studying.” Professor Solo paused, glancing down at her. “Did you?”

“Do extra studying? Yes,” Rey replied. She paused awkwardly before taking a stealing breath and admitting the truth. “I’ve found Egyptology very fascinating since I was thirteen. It’s…it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense in my life.”

A long silence. There was a strong, warm hand on her shoulder. Rey looked up to find the Professor smiling a small, sympathetic smile as he gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Kid, even if you didn’t translate those hieroglyphics right, your answer was more than enough proof for me. So, what do you say?”

Rey didn’t pause to consider the consequences, how much her life could possibly change, could possibly go _wrong,_ if she said ‘yes.’

 

_October 27, 1940: Algerian countryside_

The lush, rolling countryside beyond the windows of the Dakar-Cairo express was shrouded in night, the occasionally defined tree or low wall a blur. It was approaching three o’clock in the morning and none of the inhabitants of the tightly packed compartment—Professor Solo, Rey, Lando, Chewie, and the newly acquired Finn—had slept in over eighteen hours. Yet, with the still thrumming adrenaline from the attack on the temple and their hasty departure from Luxor, none of them felt the effects of their mad dash.

Upon realizing they had a tag-along, Professor Solo had instructed, “He’s coming along whether he likes it or not.” Finn had swallowed heavily, eyes wide with terrified apprehension. Rey thought he had every reason to be.

Now, cramped as they were, they finally had the time and breath to turn their attention to Finn.

“So, what’s your association with Colonel Hux, kid?” Professor Solo asked without preamble. In casual circumstances, Rey was intimidated by the Professor’s unabashed bluntness but now, with her mind unable to comprehend, well, _anything,_ she found herself deeply appreciative.

Distinctly uncomfortable, Finn explained in a great rush, “I’m a student at the American University in Cairo studying Anthropology, Philosophy, and Egyptology.” This didn’t surprise anyone. It seemed they had a natural ability to attract fellow Egyptologists. “My dad’s Egyptian and my mom’s American but they sent me to Cairo for college to be immersed in my ‘heritage.’” He paused before adding: “Professor Hux was a visiting lecturer and he picked me to be a guide for the Karnak but then, when we were halfway to Luxor, I realized he was actually a Nazi colonel and apart of the Reichs-whatever –you-call-it. I swear I didn’t know what they were doing or—”

“Alright, alright, we didn’t ask for your autobiography,” Professor Solo interrupted, raising his hands, placating.

“What’s your specialized interest?” Chewie asked, voice pleasant.

Finn relaxed marginally at the question. “I’m really interested in the controversy over Hatshepsut,” he replied.

Chewbacca nodded. “What’s your theory?”

“Most definitely a female pharaoh in her own right and preceded Thutmose III,” Finn replied, apprehension now completely replaced with scholarly excitement.

“Really? But why do you think he would erase all indication of her in the records? You know, I was reading a dissertation asserting that Thutmose worried—” Chewbacca replied, swiftly and completely engrossed.

“Kids, _focus_ ,” Lando interrupted, amused. “We’ll theorize later.”          

“Oh, right,” Finn mumbled, abashed.

“What should we do with him, Han?” Lando asked, turning to the Professor. Rey, too interested in the conversation between Finn and Chewie, had ignored the Professor and now, looking over to him, found his expression deeply thoughtful. It was the same expression he wore when she decoded the message on the chalkboard a year and a half ago.

“He’s coming with us whether he’s with Hux or not. He’s officially in too deep,” Professor Solo replied after a tense moment.

After a moment of silence, none sure how to proceed in the conversation, Chewbacca spoke up, “Well good; I like the kid already. But, if he’s in, are you going to explain what the hell we’re doing or shall I?”

Rey shot him a grin before turning her focus back to the Professor, far too interested to miss even a moment of explanation. It was the question no one dared to ask but hung in the air between them since their escape from the temple: _what was going on?_ Rey’s heart gave a wild thump at a sudden thought. What if all the intrigue, all the mysterious drama was related to the strange occurrences happening to her with alarming regularity? The assassin?

 _Surely it couldn’t all be coincidence_ , she thought though she was unsure if this was comforting.

“No, you’re right. You all have a right to know,” the Professor conceded, eyes taking them in and encompassing each. Rey peered briefly over at Finn and Lando. Finn, unsurprisingly, was looking as confused and mystified as she felt while Lando wore an expression of grim preparation. “What I said earlier about the Reichsbund being after the power of Ma’at wasn’t exactly lie but it wasn’t entirely the truth either. Well, the _whole_ truth. You see, there are whispers and shadows in every manuscript and text about Ma’at referring to a ‘lost’ temple. A temple we’ve been excavating. There’s also indication of an ancient relic, one with the power to tip in one’s favor and cause mass destruction should it fall into the wrong hands.”

The image of the ebony black scales, suspended by golden thread, flashed through Rey’s mind. “The scales,” she breathed, not fully realizing she spoke until the

“The Scales of Ma’at,” Professor Solo continued. “The myth goes that Ma’at attended the scales with Thoth and Anubis. She would weigh the ib, the heart, the house of the human soul, against her ostrich feather. If the ib is found too heavy, the soul would be devoured and continue on in darkness and pain for all eternity.”

“Cheery,” Lando muttered.

Ignoring him, the Professor concluded: “There’s another myth that warns that, if the scales fell into the wrong hands—say, Set or the Third Reich—the scales can be manipulated and tipped in favor of chaos, death, and destruction.”

Silence reigned in the train compartment. Swallowing hard, Rey asked, voice weak, “But isn’t it all just that—a myth?”

“For a long time, we thought so,” Chewbacca supplied.

The Professor added, “But then Leia, Ambassador Leia Organa that is, contacted us with news that they think they found the lost temple of Ma’at and we thought, if one is real, than why not the other?”

“So we’re running away from the Scales right now? Aren’t they in that temple?” demanded Finn.

“There was a map of sorts to their location inside that secret chamber. Apparently they were in the delta of the River of Time,” the Professor explained. Understanding, sudden and clear descended over Rey. The River bore the Egyptians’ souls to the far west, to their underworld, the Duat. The farthest they could go, the farthest the Egyptians believed they could travel, even in the afterlife, was to the western corner of Africa.

“You think the Strait of Gibraltar is the delta?” Rey asked, disbelieving of her own words even as she spoke them.

Professor Solo nodded. “And that Morocco is the land of the dead.”

“Well, that’s not insulting _at all_ ,” Chewbacca mumbled good-naturedly. No one replied to his quip, all too devoted to their thoughts to allow for joking of any manner. Rey stared down at the train ticket in her hands and suddenly the neatly printed ‘ _Rabat, Morocco’_ was the weightiest pairing of words she had ever encountered.

 

_October 27, 1940: Rabat, Morocco_

After arriving at the Rabat train station, Professor Solo promising an old friend would help arrange for them to safely travel to Eddalya —the town on the Moroccan side of the Strait—they set off without further explanation. Rey assumed he was referring to the Ambassador, her embassy was in Rabat and she seemed a likely source of aid, but her confusion grew as they passed out of the wealthy, business district of the city, threading their way along the hard packed dirt and pale sandstone streets. The farther they walked, the more modern buildings gave way to traditional white stone architecture, the details beautifully executed on the exteriors. Rey wished they weren’t currently running for their lives from Nazi archeologists who wished them dead so she could pause to sketch the arches and mosaics.

Yet, Professor Solo didn’t slow for academic study, his pace seeming only to quicken. Finally, he took a sharp right off the main boulevard they had been following, and led them to a beautiful, four-storied building that must have begun its life as a palace for a minor prince.

Not pausing for hesitation, the Professor rounded on the expedition, warning, “Before we go in, just remember not to stare.”

"At what?” Rey couldn’t help asking.

" _Any_ of it.”

"Han, are you sure about this?” Chewbacca interjected then. “Shouldn’t we go to Leia or even my parents?”

 “I agree, Han; not that we don’t _like_ Maz, it’s just that…” Lando trailed off, giving a shrug and a significant look.

 “Maz owes me after Tangier,” Han replied. “Besides, we can trust her.”

“That’s not what we’re saying here, Han,” protested Lando but the Professor smartly ignored him, turning on his heel and pushing his way through the main, ornate, double doors of the mansion. Rey fell in behind him. After fourteen months in the desert with the Professor, she knew better than to try dissuading him from anything he had already set his mind to.

When she stepped though the doorway and into the thick haze of cigar smoke, all she could register coherently was lively bomba music pulsating from a quartet of musicians in the corner that the patrons were taking as a personal challenge to talk over. Conversation and bouts laughter punctuated the smoky air and Rey hurriedly stole glances around, careful to not make eye contact and not the least bit surprised to find the cantina occupied largely but unsavory, shady types.

Then a loud cry of: “ _Han Solo!”_ punctuated the music and the bar was plunged into an unnatural silence. Every pair of eyes swiveled and locked onto them.

 Rey gulped.

There was movement from next to the bar and a petite, highly wrinkled woman with tuffs of white hair and huge prescription glasses dominating much of her face came trotting towards them, laughing and reaching up to grasp Han’s extended hand. “How are you, you scoundrel?” Before Professor Solo could reply, her eyes slid to Chewbacca and she waggled her nearly nonexistent eyebrows at him. “Ah, you’ve finally brought my boyfriend back!”

Laughing, Chewbacca bent to plant a kiss on the woman’s wrinkled, leathery cheek. “Hey Maz, how are you?” Chewie replied, giving her a grin. Rey watched the exchange curiously; surely Chewbacca’s earlier apprehension wasn’t because of this old woman, who he seemed more than friendly with. Rey, observing the remainder of the cantina from the corner of her eyes, could only suspect Chewie didn’t trust the shady patrons. Rey could empathize.

Clasping his hand affectionately, she replied, “I’m good, business is good. What is there to complain about? Come, everyone sit down.” With that, Maz was ushering the group towards a back alcove and a large table, the cantina resuming their chatter. Once the members of their expedition were all settled with tankards of Moroccan spiced rum before them—Rey stared down at hers dubiously—Maz prompted, “What do you want this time?”

"C’mon, Maz, what makes you think I want something?” Professor Solo replied, smile easy and charming. When Maz simply fixed him with a dry look, the Professor relented. “ _Okay_ , alright. We need your help in getting to Eddalya safely and undetected.”

She stared at him hard before asking, voice quiet, solemn: “You’ve found them, haven’t you?”

"Not quite but we’re close. And running out of time,” the Professor replied. “Hux has joined up with the Nazis.”

 Maz shook her head, tuffs of hair bobbing. “Unfortunately, I’m not surprised. He will prove to be a formidable foe.”

“Yeah, you’re telling us,” Chewie mumbled.

“But getting to Eddalya shouldn’t be a problem. I have some contacts making a delivery there tonight. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay here and rest,” Maz replied, her eyes sweeping over the entirety of the crewmembers before locking, freezing in surprised interest, on Rey. Though Rey knew it couldn’t be possible, it seemed Maz’s already magnified eyes grew even wider. “You’ve been plagued with the unexplainable, my child.”

Rey’s mouth was suddenly as dry as a desert. “What…what do you mean?” she managed to choke out in a stunned whisper.

 Maz was deaf to Rey, only saying: “The _unmovable;_ what should be impossible is suddenly possible.”

Her words, so unavoidable, sent a cold terror, a suffocating chill of consumption, down Rey's spine. She blinked at Maz’s enlarged eyes and wished she didn’t see the truth reflected back at her. She had been persistently plagued—and persistently dodging—speculations on the strange events of the past few days but now, hearing it said aloud, it was all made so irrevocably _real._ No excuse could be had with the truth staring at her—blunt and direct—in the face.

Carefully observing Rey’s reaction, Maz expression turned sage. “You’ve only just started noticing but its been happening your whole life.”

“Maz,” warned Chewbacca in a low tone. “Don’t scare her.”

“She’s not ready yet,” Professor Solo added, voice holding a warning.

"‘Not ready?’” repeated Maz, ripping her gaze from Rey, tone scathing. “Who are you to judge if she is ready or not? It is in her _blood,_ Han. You should have taken her to Luke months ago.”

Rey’s mind was scrambling, hearing the exchange but not truly processing the words’ meaning. But then, she doubted she’d be able to puzzle together the truth even if the short gasps, rattling in her throat, wasn’t taking up so much of her concentration. Nausea roiled and something approaching panic was clawing its way up from her stomach. Yet, before she replied, before she could demand for someone— _for once_ —to explain themselves fully and not _lie,_ the front doors were flung open with a resounding crack. Soon followed a chorus of shouts, screams, and barked orders.

“ _What the fuck?_ How did they find us already?” Lando demanded, though no one could offer an answer, as they turned to stare, momentarily paralyzed. Framed by the doorway and the morning sun streaming in behind him, was Kylo Ren, pistol in hand and soldiers at his back.

The expedition crew shot to their feet, tense and ready to spring, while Maz remained seated, almost idyllically serene. At the sight of him—tall, dark, clean, and handsome, just as he had been in the Luxor bazaar—Rey’s temper began to simmer, ready to boil over.

“Han Solo!” shouted Ren. “Come quietly and no one will get hurt!”

"What is this; a western?” grumbled Chewie under his breath.

 Maz, adjusting her glasses, squinted. “Is that young Ben?”

Rey stared in confusion down at her but then she was being nudged sharply. She turned to find Chewie staring at her meaningfully before his eyes shifted off to the left. Following his gaze, Rey found a back entrance. Glancing back at Chewbacca, she nodded minutely in comprehension. Meanwhile, Han strode forward without fear or hesitation, the patrons easily carving a path for him. He approached Kylo Ren at a steady, measured pace.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Professor Solo began. “Where’s your owner? I’m surprised he let you off your leash.” Kylo’s jaw clenched, visible even from across the cantina, but remained silent. “I’m surprised; no collar.”

“Witty jokes won’t help you,” Kylo now replied, taking the final step to truly enter the cantina. His voice was low, a warning, and Rey wondered if he really meant it as a threat or something else. What that ‘something’ was, Rey couldn’t place.

"You think I’m witty? I’m flattered,” Professor Solo replied, voice remaining light.

At Rey’s side, Chewbacca muttered, lips barely moving: “Start going.” Finn, closest to the back entrance, began to inch forward. Rey, Lando, and Chewie followed at a careful rate.

It was then Maz’s expression betrayed emotion—watching Professor Solo and Kylo with careful concern—her leathery face holding a contemplative frown, deep in consideration. Deciding something with herself, she stood from her chair, making a point of scraping the wooden legs against the stone floor, and striding to the front of the cantina with as much noisy pomp as a woman of her stature could. “Either order a drink or show yourself the door,” Maz ordered, somehow towering despite being two feet shorter than Kylo Ren.

Using the cover of Maz’s sudden movement, the crew ducked for the door, Finn holding aside the thin curtain to allow Rey, Chewie, and Lando to slip through silently. When all were past, Finn hurried out, finding himself fed into a narrow alley stinking of rotting food, vomit, and urine. There was a weighty silence, each staring at the other in turn, before Rey broke the quiet, demanding, “What about Professor Solo?”

“He’ll be fine,” Chewie assured, squeezing Rey’s shoulder and giving her a brief, thin smile.

As if in response to Chewbacca, there was a shout from within, a gunshot, and then a sound similar to a pack of wounded—and vengeful—wolves growling, howling, and barking after the sudden order of attack. Eyes wide, Rey grabbed for the back entrance curtain, tugging it aside to find the cantina had erupted into sheer, unadulterated pandemonium. The Nazi soldiers had swarmed inside, engaging in dirty brawls with the bloodthirsty patrons.

Rey stood on her tiptoes, mouth agape and having completely forgotten to breathe, eyes narrowed in search for Professor Solo or Maz. There was no sign of them; she couldn’t discern either the Professor’s signature brown fedora or the white tuffs atop Maz’s head.

She blinked; there they were, weaving through the crowd, Maz ducking under thrown punches and the Professor dodging as a soldier went crashing into a table. “You are going to have to pay for that!” Maz shouted over her shoulder but the young solder—lip split and bleeding—had far more immediate problems to deal with than damaged tables, namely a very menacing, very angry smuggler.

"Professor Solo!” Rey called, as he and Maz neared the back entrance. “What happened?”

“One of Ren’s soldiers got a little excited and tried to shoot Maz,” the Professor answered as Rey stepped out of his way.

"Not the best idea,” Maz added tranquilly, barreling past Rey.

"Han, you crazy bastard!” Lando greeted as the Professor fumbled to a stop just before crashing into an overflowing garbage bin.

"Sorry to worry you,” Professor Solo returned, dryly.

“Not the time for banter,” Maz interrupted, adjusting her glasses. “You have to leave this place now. They won’t be stalled here for long. Get going; get to safety!” When the crewmembers only stared at Maz, blinking at her in varying degrees of vagueness—obviously dazed after the rapid events—she sighed and ordered: “ _Run_!”

She need not say more.

#

Rey’s lungs still burned as she finished washing up in the tiny train bathroom an hour later. Splashing water on her face and towel drying herself as best she could with the small clothe rationed to each passenger, Rey peered at her reflection in the hazy, cracked mirror. A seasoned woman, skin blotchily tanned and spotted with freckles, stared back. Brown eyes locked on brown eyes and Rey could have sworn her reflection glared, accusing and demanding.

 Yet, her mind was devoid of any answers—or any speculations that could evolve into answers—and she could only return her reflection’s glare with a sad, dejected stare. Confusion was the dominate emotion, governing her, and her mind seemed incapable of even _beginning_ to explain the turn her reality— _her life_ —had taken into absurdity. The exertion of her will; the detached voice; the caved in the ceiling. “Surely there must be a rational explanation,” Rey whispered.

She was an Egyptologist, a scientist devoted to the logical study of ancient peoples and their culture. Her whole method and process of thinking was thoroughly founded in the rational; she considered myth and magic only as their effect on societal beliefs. Never as a true source of power; never as an object to be contested over with by Nazi archeologists; never manipulating her life with unexplainable interventions.

 Maz’s words echoed through her thoughts, almost as if the old woman was whispering in her ear: _The_ unmovable _; what should be impossible is suddenly possible. You’ve only just started noticing but its been happening your whole life._

Rey frowned; what had Maz meant? She didn’t remember any strange ‘magical’ instances before coming to Egypt. Surely she would have noticed if these phenomena were happing her _whole life?_

Now she frowned, her reflection remaining impassive to her plight. How had she gotten so embroiled? She knew the answer: it was all her own making though admitting it brought her no comfort. Applying for the assistantship, chasing her childhood daydreams, allowing herself to gullibly believe a handsome man wanted to know her because she was simply _Rey_ , expecting no more or less.

There. She had finally reached that thought: the thought of _him_ she had been trying desperately to avoid. Her treacherous mind summoned a vision of the dark, handsome Kylo Ren. Clenching her teeth together and gripping the edge of the tiny sink, Rey scowled down at the faux porcelain. Why had she been so foolish? Why hadn’t she seen though him?

She was such a naïve little girl, in over her head in _everything_ : the expedition, the hunt for the Scales—if they truly existed, which she highly doubted—the fight for good, interacting with men.

Stuffing her towel in her pocket, she ran a hand over the loose tendrils of her hair. Her breath had finally returned, the red of exertion beginning to pale from her cheeks, and she took a moment to calm herself.

It was a grave risk Professor Solo was having them make: taking the train to Tangier and then Eddalya thereafter, knowing all the while there were few escape routes from the town, nowhere to run when the Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht came for them as they most certainly would. If Kylo Ren and his men tracked them to Maz’s cantina, there was no question they would guess the expedition’s next move.

Giving up on her appearance—there was no helping it without a proper shower—she made the tight turn in the bathroom to coax the compact door open. Just as she was stepping out, closing the door mindfully behind her, a heavy hand seized her shoulder. She was turned violently, back slamming against the door, and, ignoring the pain shooting up her spine, she stared up in wide-eyed terror. A behemoth of a man—all blond hair and wintery skin—loomed over her.

 “Get off me!” Rey yelped out by instinct, trying to wriggle to no avail. Sparing a brief glance down, her eyebrows jumped at recognizing the uniform of an Italian officer.

 “An English girl; I thought I smelled a rat,” the blond man sneered, Northern Italian accent heavy and thickened by his obvious glee. The small, quirking smirk was far more frightening than the officer’s words.

Rey refused to glance around in panic, searching for her companions. They wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon; she had begged away twenty minutes in the bathroom to freshen up. She wasn’t expected back for another seven minutes.

“Sir, please unhand me,” Rey replied, mindful to stay calm though her voice was tight and her expression drawn.

"I don’t think so. You look an awful lot like a girl those Germans are searching for,” the man replied. Rey gulped unconsciously, instantly knowing she had given herself away as soon as he heard her accent. "There’s a reward for you; a _big_ one. They must be very desperate to find you. I wonder why? What’s so important about—”

"And its fortunate that I’ve found her, isn’t it?” interjected a smooth, steely voice, tone plunging Rey into a winter sea. Her chest tightened in terror. She recognized that voice readily; she was sure she would never be able to forget it. Though Rey had been sure the situation couldn’t get worse, it most certainly had.

 The Italian officer jerked hurriedly away. With the man’s tall, bulky stature abruptly shifted, the looming, dark figure of Kylo Ren was plainly in view of Rey’s line of sight. Hate boiled in her, her face flushing with anger and her lips going pale over her teeth, so tightly pursed; her limbs shook, hot and impossible to control.

Both men ignored her fearsome glare, the Italian officer far too preoccupied with blinking at Kylo Ren, impossibly growing paler than before. He stuttered out, “C-Captain Ren, sir!”

“Lieutenant Phasma,” Ren returned in cool, condescending politeness. “I’d thank you if you unhanded my prisoner.”

“‘Your prisoner’, sir?” Phasma repeated, his eyes cut down to Rey.

“Yes, Lieutenant; don’t make me repeat myself,” Ren replied; there was power and intimidation in his tone. It was hard reconciling the memory of Kylo in the bazaar to the man before her, but Rey certainly wasn’t opposed to trying. She was more than eager to believe the worst in him.

After a heavy silence, significant in its meaning, Phasma reluctantly released his iron grip on Rey, taking a step away from her as an added precaution. “I appreciate your thorough conducting of train inspections, Lieutenant Phasma, but I assure you I have the situation well in hand.” Another pause. “That will be all.”

“Yes, yes of course, sir. Excuse me, sir; sorry to be an inconvenience,” Phasma replied, hurrying to offer Kylo a smart salute but not lingering for dismissal, too eager to escape Kylo Ren’s presence. Rey didn’t shift her gaze from Ren, too lost in her deep scowling to take notice of Lieutenant Phasma’s skittish, swift departure.

Kylo ignored him just as she did, meeting her eyes evenly, his expression unreadable. When silence was reestablished in the train corridor—only the far off muttering and rabble of the crowd on the platform disrupting the perfect, tense stillness—Kylo’s face flickered with something close to an apology.

Yet, before Rey could fully comprehend his sad eyes or the slight downward draw of his lips, his fingers were brushing her temple and he was muttering: “I’m sorry for this.”

Her world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we've come to the explanation! But, is all as it seems? Who's to say as the drama only escalates? (I'm too dramatic; I'm sorry.)
> 
> Added tidbits:  
> -The bomba music in Maz's cantina is a tribute to the co-composer of the new cantina music, Lin-Manuel Miranda (shoutout to any Hamilnerds out there), who's Puerto Rican and has attributed bomba as an influence for the movie's cantina music.  
> -Lt. Phasma (she got a demotion from the movie; sorry) is an officer from Northern Italy because I could only suspend my need for historical accuracy (Leia--a woman! /gasp/--as an ambassador) to a degree. Though, using the classic "you're a woman?!?" line would've been great. Ah, well.


	5. Chapter 5

_January 21, 1934: Niima Academy, Jakku, England_

The long gravel drive to Niima Academy had frozen over the night before and the older girls had congregated in the recreation room. In between gathering around the wood heater, holding their gloved hands to the small warmth and shivering violently, they would amuse themselves with playing poker with a pack of worn, contraband cards. Playing cards was considered a man's pastime, unsuitable to the young lades of Niima Academy, but Doreen Goropesek kept her deck secreted away under her mattress for days such as this. She was hailed as a hero for her brave defiance.

Rey observed all the revelry with a faint smile but didn’t try joining in, too concerned with conserving body warmth. With her legs drawn up and holding her knees to her chest—desperately trying to retain the heat her raggedy wool coat couldn’t keep—she was leaned against the frosty pane, reluctant to give up the window seat in favor of playing cards. She briefly stuffed her hands under her armpits once she blew into them.

Turning her eyes from the game, she leaned her head against the frigid windowpane, amusing herself in watching the growing—and subsequent receding—of her breath’s fog on the glass. She studied the clear blue-sky overhead contrasting beautifully with the wintery landscape. Occasionally, in quiet, contemplative moments like these, Rey would be overcome with the bizarre feeling that she didn’t truly belong here. Not ‘here’ as in the Academy, she needed no odd premonition to know that to be true. She didn't belong in England.

Her accent, her mannerisms, and what she know of her family was all deeply rooted in England. Yet, staring out over the snowy meadows sectioned off with low, brick walls and the scattering of tree copses, she felt it unnatural. Like something deeply buried within her protested it.

A sudden hand on her bicep startled her from her thoughts and she shot her eyes up with a loud gasp, heart hammering wildly. Standing over her was Missus Teedo, the school nurse, a serious frown pulling down her expression. “Sorry for startling you, darling,” the petite woman said, tone uncharacteristically considerate.

Rey’s brows furrowed, wondering why Missus Teedo, who spoke with no one unless entirely unavoidable and then only snippily, would seek her out. “No, it’s quite alright,” she assured.

“Could you come with me?” Missus Teedo asked after a moment, dropping her hand from Rey and motioning for her to stand.

Vaguely, mind racing with possibilities, Rey nodded, standing, and allowed herself to be herded from the recreation room. She ignored the curious stares the others girls shot her; she ignored the flustered expression of Doreen Goropesek, who had hastily stuffed away her cards; she ignored the sinking, bottomless sensation settling over her. She focused on putting one foot before the other, knowing that wherever Missus Teedo was taking her, good news did not await her there.

Missus Teedo guided her along the main hall of the grand old boarding house’s first level, waving her into the secretaries’ offices, where the girls could pick up letters and telegrams from their families. Rey, never having occasion to receive any post or messages, had never been in the office. Now, with the roads inaccessible by motorcar, the rooms were devoid of the usually kind, elderly ladies, leaving only Rey and Missus Teedo.

With a simple “My condolences,” Missus Teedo handed Rey her first ever telegram and changed her life.

Hands trembling, Rey bit her lip as she accepted the hastily scrawled message. It was brief, only three lines, and started with Niima Academy’s address before reading: ‘Bodies of Jinn and Aayla Kenobi found at the base of Cleopatra’s Needle early this morning. Please inform their daughter. Detective C. Zuvio, Scotland Yard.’

It took her five times reading through the brief telegram before the words truly sunk in, truly became reality. Rey kept staring hard at the words, squinting around blurring tears, and desperately hoping that this time— _this time—_ as she read, the words would have miraculously changed. Yet, as she began to read it for the sixth time, the telegram was quivering so violently, her hands shaking so hard, the paper fluttered from her hands, drifting far too gently to the floorboards for the weighty news it bore.

There was a roaring in Rey’s ears but, unlike all those years ago when her Mama and Papa left her, she was aware of exactly where it originated. But, it wasn’t her screaming. Outside, the wind whistled and whipped against the brick exterior of the boarding house, howling suddenly and violently. Storm clouds raced in, rapid and unnatural.

Rey didn’t care; she had no room in her mind to care. She was clutching at her stomach, doubled over in a pain and it was unlike anything she had ever before felt. She ignored the growing storm outside, the uncomfortable stare of Missus Teedo, and found herself leaning against the wall heavily, gasping, gapping, and struggling for air. There was a hollow ache in her chest, like someone had reached in and scooped out whatever was inside, and Rey was completely empty yet heavy with crushing weight all at once.

She didn’t know when she slid down the wall to plop onto the floor but, somewhere in between standing and sitting, she had begun sobbing.

 

_October 27, 1940: Moroccan countryside_

After the Italian soldiers had prowled by on their checks, disembarking, the steam train finally lurched to a start. The shrill whistle seemed just as urgent to depart from the Rabat station as the expedition members was, all cramped into their third class compartment. When the strange hodge-podge of modern office buildings and traditional white stone houses began to blur past, Finn relaxed into his hard bench, checking his watch.

“Rey’s been in the bathroom for a while,” Finn observed into the tense silence.

“She’s probably fussing over her hair,” Lando dismissed, keeping careful watch on the corridor, concern visibly darkening his face.

Finn only frowned, crossing his arms and leaning back. When next he checked his watch, eight minutes had ticked by. He lurched to his feet, announcing to no one in particular: “I’m going to check on her.”  

There was no reply—Finn decided this was approval enough—and he clambered over Chewie’s legs to reach the compartment’s sliding glass door. It was a short trip down the corridor from their compartment to the bathroom.

“Rey?” he called, knocking respectfully on the door, mindful to keep his voice low in consideration of the other passengers on the train. There was a pause before quiet shuffling was heard on the opposite side. Accompanying muffled cursing in Arabic, the folding door was wrenched open and Finn found himself blinking down at a short, wizened woman who was most certainly _not_ Rey.

Finn’s heart sank to somewhere in his toes. He knew he shouldn’t jump to conclusions but his mind could only scramble to one answer: the Italians had taken her.

 

_October 28, 1940: Rabat, Morocco_

Soft light, gently prodding and faint, tickled Rey’s eyelids, coaxing her lashes to flutter open and greet the new day. Stretching marginally, Rey’s first thought was that she was in a marvelously soft bed, swaddled in clean sheets. She couldn’t recall the last time she slept in a comfortable bed; the cots in the train sleeping compartments and the twin mattress at _The Ament_ felt as though they were stuffed with gravel. Propping herself up on an elbow, Rey found she was the sole occupant of a small, tastefully decorated room.

There was a makeshift bed to the left on the floor—pillows taken from the ornate chaise lounge and the duvet off Rey’s bed used as a blanket—and to the right was a balcony, doors thrown open and allowing a gentle breeze to ruffle the drapes and gust into the room, playfully tugging at her hair. An unconscious smile quirked her lips: if this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up.

Then, her head throbbed, pain acute and pinpointed at her temples, protesting her movement as she looked around, inspecting. Gasping, she clutched at her forehead, fingers working at massaging her temples. As if in response, there was the distinct noise of a toilet flushing and a minute later, the door to the bathroom squeaked open.

Rey glanced over, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat, and suddenly the dream had turned into a nightmare.

“ _You!”_ Rey shouted, hands scrambling for a weapon to defend herself as she shuffled off the bed, putting it between her and Kylo Ren—dressed in a loose linen shirt and plain trousers she most certainly did _not_ find attractive. She valiantly ignored the ridiculousness of having grabbed up a downy-feathered pillow as her weapon of choice. “What are you doing? Where are we? Where have you brought me?”

Holding his hands out, placating, seeming just as surprised to be so suddenly confronted as she was, he replied in a soothing voice, “Rey, calm down. Deep breaths.”

“How can you tell me to _calm down?”_ she spat at him. “You abducted me!”

Kylo pursed his lips, his jaw visibly jumping in frustration. “ _Rey_ —” he tried again.

“I can’t ‘calm down’ when a man’s whose only ever lied and manipulated me has kidnapped me and—” she continued, shouting over him.

“Rey!” he cut across effectively. “I’m trying to protect you!” Rey only glared harshly, her disbelief conveyed by a loud snort. “You’re a fugitive against the Germans _and_ Italians. I had to get you away; hide you in plain sight.”

Rey scoffed. “Why should I trust you? You’re probably just lying to me, _again_.”

His dark brows furrowed, his frustration momentarily receding into a soft frown. “I promised I’d never lie to you.”

“What about you being a Nazi? A captain of the fucking Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht?” she shot back.

Kylo’s expression returned to anger, dismissing easily, “A means to an end; I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Then why don’t you try explaining it to me?” Rey demanded, arching a brow.

His eyes shifted away from her, dark eyes fixing on the ruffled sheets she had only been occupying minutes before. He spoke to the mattress, voice low and tone indecipherable: “I’m actually surprised you don’t know; that Solo hasn’t told you.”

Silence fell, Rey’s anger ebbing into confusion as she studied his expression. He was somber, downward drawn, but with an open honesty to him that was a ghost of who Rey met in the Luxor bazaar. Before her stood an odd chimera of the man she knew—or desperately _hoped_ she had known—and the man who aided in the defacing of history and artifacts: a man solely focused on his own ambition. The ambitious glint in his dark eyes contradicted the sadness tugging at the corners of his mouth but, before Rey could begin dissecting his expression—and the feelings triggered because of it—his gaze snapped up to meet hers.

“But that’s not something we’re getting into. Not now. What’s important is your safety,” he spoke, voice taking on an edge of warning not to argue with him. “You have to hide for a few days before you can even _begin_ to think of getting out of Rabat. They’ll be watching for you.”

Before Rey could reply, Kylo took a step towards the bed and tugged at the sheets, making it with meticulous attention, conveying clearly the conversation was over. Rey watched him with an arched brow; the looming, intimidating, _handsome_ —she shook her head, dispelling the thought; he was the _enemy,_ morally unfounded, selfishly driven—Kylo Ren doing mundane housework. For an instant, she wanted to laugh at the sheer strangeness of it. But, in the next moment, she wanted to cry for the helplessness of the situation, and, as it was slowly dawning on her, it _was_ a helpless situation.

Instead, she settled on offering Kylo her pillow as he arranged them at the head of the bed.

#

When Chewbacca and Finn returned to Rabat—the midnight train back from Tangier was, unthinkably, more uncomfortable than the afternoon train to—it was midmorning and Finn desperately wanted a tea or coffee or maybe just a nap. He would have settled for any of the three but greatly preferred all of them, perhaps not in that order.

Doggedly following Chewbacca as he strode along, Finn tried asking again: “So how does Professor Solo know the American Ambassador, exactly?”

Chewie spared Finn a glance over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his features. “That’s a loaded question, son.”

“Loaded with a bullet or a loaded potato with bacon bits?” Finn replied, grin wide and imploring. It was a tactic he had perfected on his Egyptologist advisor back at the American University in Cairo; he could easily weasel information out with his easy charm. Of course, that was inadvertently how he landed the job as guide to Hux so perhaps he should rethink his methods.

To Finn’s pleasant surprise, Chewie threw his head back, letting out a great bark of laughter. It was a peculiar sound; one Finn couldn’t help chuckling at. It sounded almost like a bear, lion, and a badger garbling at the same time. Before Finn could expand on this thought, Chewbacca was saying, “You know, if you’re really that hungry, you could have told me.”

“I mean, a baked potato is always good,” Finn conceded.

“Sad lack of potatoes in Morocco, son,” Chewie replied, guffaws beginning to subside.

"You still haven’t answered my question,” Finn pointed out, ostentatiously.

Chewbacca grinned though he didn’t look at Finn, keeping his focus on navigating the bustling street market. “Never said I was going to.”

 “I’m a valuable part of this expedition now,” Finn pointed out, suddenly breathless as he narrowly ducked under a heavy Persian carpet carried by two burly men, sidestepped a vibrant arrangement of spices, and jumped over a fluffy cat in pursuit of a rat. Chewbacca—too massive to encounter such trivialities—watched Finn with a deeply amused smirk. Finn tried very hard not to glare at him.

 “‘Valuable’ remains to be seen,” Chewbacca replied when Finn returned to walk at his side. Deciding not to grace that comment with anything beyond casting his eyes skyward, Finn remained silent. When the pair swung off the main boulevard, entering into a narrower, quieter street, Chewbacca explained, “The Ambassador’s a touchy topic for Han. There’s a lot of history.”

"Why? Did the Ambassador steal the Professor’s wife or something?” Finn replied, his teasing only half-hearted as intensely interested as he was.

Chewbacca chuckled. “No, no; the Ambassador’s a woman—” Finn’s eyebrows jumped, eyes widening at the implications. “—and the Professor’s wife.” Now Finn’s mouth popped open.

“ _What?”_ Finn squeaked. He cleared his throat, flushing slightly, and tried again in a lower-pitched tone: “What?”

There was a long pause. They walked the remaining length of the street, turning right and, when Finn was sure Chewbacca wasn’t going to reply, he said: “They had a falling out about six years ago.” Chewie’s voice was very quiet, eyes cast solemnly downward. “I’ve known the Professor for a long time, even before I was really into Egyptology. He was a fellow at Mohammad V University when I was doing my doctorate dissertation on Ancient Mauretania. Han actually introduced me to Mace Windu.”

Finn bit his inner cheek to keep from interrupting and exclaiming over Chewbacca working with Mace Windu— _Sir Mace Windu!_ “Anyway, during all that time I’ve never known Han without Leia—Ambassador Organa, that is. We all joked they were like Isis and Osiris, always meant to be together…” Chewie grew quiet before adding in a mumbled undertone, seemingly having forgotten about Finn: “If only we had known...”

"What do you mean?” Finn prompted when Chewbacca trailed into silence.

Shaking himself, Chewbacca answered, “Nothing or—at least—nothing that I really have any right to explain.” Finn’s expression scrunched. “They were happy together and even had a son, Ben. There’s a lot of old grudges and past hurts in Leia’s family; a lot of secrets and pain that’s been passed down from generation to generation. Han told me he thought Leia and her brother had finally broke that cycle but then…” Here Chewie’s breath caught. Swallowing, he forced himself to continue: “ But then their son met Leia’s father for the first time.”

"Is the Ambassador estranged from her father?” Finn prompted.

“That would be the nice way of putting it,” Chewie mumbled, mouth set in a hard line. Finn held a hand to his brow, shielding his eyes against the morning sun, and studied the taller man for a moment. There was a weight, palpable and almost visible to Finn’s observant eyes, on Chewbacca’s shoulders. It was impossibly heavy and impossibly sad. Knowing he had exhausted the number of questions Chewie was willing to answer, Finn returned his eyes to their surroundings. They had progressed from the cramped streets of the markets and business districts, feeding them into the residential neighborhoods with houses set farther back from the streets and emerald lawns breaking apart the continuous sandstone walls.

They soon stopped before the opened gates of the American embassy—signified by its red, white, and blue flag flapping lazily in the faint breeze—where the guards recognized Chewbacca immediately and waved them through. Tramping along the white flagstones dissecting a green lawn dotted with palm trees and water features, Chewbacca led them to the veranda wrapping around the two storied embassy—Finn briefly wondered if every building in Rabat had started as a palace—and Finn was careful to mimic Chewie’s respectful reserve.

Obviously warned of their arrival by radio, the main door—arched and ornately carved—was opened to reveal a smartly dressed blond woman who greeted them with a wide grin. “Chewbacca! How wonderful to see you!” she exclaimed, moving forward to extend a handshake.

Finn shouldn’t have been shocked to hear her perky American accent—they were at the _American_ consulate, after all—but he still blinked at her, bouncy blond curls and all.

Chewie accepted it warmly. “Miss Ko; it’s great to see you.”

“I haven’t seen you in… _years!_ But _goll-y_ , look at you! You’ve only gotten handsomer, haven’t you? Are you still working with Windu?” she replied, smiling up at Chewbacca, who seemed a giant in comparison to her.

“No, he retired back in ’25. I do hear from him occasionally though,” Chewbacca answered.

“ _’25?_ No kidding? Wow,” Kaydel Ko replied, eyes widening and blinking owlishly in surprise. She shook her head in amused disbelief. “We’re getting old. And who’s this young man?”

Finn suddenly found himself rounded on.

Clapping an oversized hand on Finn’s shoulder, Chewbacca introduced, “This is a young associate of mine, Finn. He’s a student at the American University in Cairo.”

“Egyptology?” Miss Ko asked, smile friendly.

 “Yes, ma’am,” Finn replied, returning the smile.

Scrunching her nose, she giggled as she waved her hand, “Ah! Not another one! Don’t you know the Saadi dynasty is _so_ much better?”

“Ignore her, she’s a specialist,” Chewbacca interjected, teasingly, as if being a specialist was a fate worse than death.

Rolling her eyes, Miss Ko turned on her heel, leading them inside as she changed the topic of conversation: “The Ambassador’s in a meeting at the moment. She’ll be done within the next twenty minutes. Can I get you some food or tea in the meantime?”

 “What about coffee?” Chewbacca asked as Miss Ko led them through an ornate foyer—strewn with plush carpets and colorful mosaics—and into a far smaller, but no less exquisite, lounge.

"Coffee it is,” Miss Ko agreed, leaving the two men to arrange themselves in the armchairs after receiving an insistence that ‘whatever’ was quite alright with Finn.

#

Rey sunk into the tub, sighing heavily, astonished by the nerves that rushed out with her breath. Her shoulders, tense and bunched, ready to spring, sagged against the porcelain and the coolness was a pleasant contrast from the heat of the water. She ignored the dirt rising off her skin in clouds, too concerned with easing her muscles into relaxing against the tub to be embarrassed about her filth.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had a proper bath; typically, her hygiene was regulated to a makeshift shower in her room at _The Ament._ With a bucket of lukewarm water and a sponge, she would scrub at her skin, cleaned but without the benefit of stress relief from a proper bath. A tubful of hot water was expensive at the hotel and Rey used her small wages to have a real bath once every two weeks.

Now, sinking down to submerge her face, smile just below the surface, she could only imagine her reaction if, when she was at Niima, someone had told her she would keep such questionable hygienic standards. She would have been horrified; Rey _was_ horrified but with lost temples, secret chambers, strange displays of magic, and being hunted—and captured—by Nazis, it seemed the least of her problems.

Reminded of Kylo, Rey popped her head back out of the water, reaching for the soaps Kylo left on the lip of the tub. He had vocalized this kindness of his—Rey rolled her eyes, remembering how he clearly expected her thanks in turn—before extracting a promise that she would stay in the hotel room and wouldn’t attempt escaping while Kylo spent the afternoon meeting with fellow Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht officers. She didn’t really know why he bothered; if she somehow climbed down from the fourth story balcony without breaking her neck, she would be lost on where to go. Maz would certainly help but Rey didn’t know how she’d find her way back to the cantina.

From what she could discern from the view of the sprawling metropolis of Rabat from the balcony, the streets and alleys were a labyrinth.

After scrubbing her hair thoroughly and ducking her head back into the water, Rey resurfaced to lean back against the tub, head tilted up to the plaster ceiling, and she allowed her eyes to slide shut with a heavy sigh.

A few moments of sleep certainly wouldn’t go amiss.

When next she was cognizant, her bathwater had grown tepid and there was the unmistakable squeak and slam of the main room’s door. The bang weighed heavily on her heart, sinking it down into her stomach and she slid lower into the tub, peering over the lip cautiously. Her mind rationalized it was Kylo, returned from his afternoon’s work but her mind flashed before her eyes visions of intruders, robbers. It really would be her luck if their hotel room were burglarized.

There was the soft rhythm of footsteps, clunks of shoes being shed unceremoniously, and the patter came nearer until it stopped just before the bathroom door. A pause and then a tentative knock. “Rey?” Kylo’s voice echoed off the tiles, surrounding her and a brief wave of relief washed over Rey. It was subsequently replaced by anger. Just because Kylo was far preferable to burglars—not a very favorable judgment on him—didn’t mean she was any closer to having benevolent feelings towards him.

“Just a moment,” she replied, boosting herself out of the tub and reaching for a towel. After sponging off her skin, she briefly patted her hair before shrugging on a soft, cotton robe and unplugging the tub. She knew she was dawdling, relishing in forcing him to wait for her, but she really couldn’t find it within herself to care. When Rey finally wrenched open the door, she found Kylo standing closer than she expected on the other side. He jerked hastily back to avoid his nose being wacked. She offered a small shrug, “Sorry.”

 “S’alright,” he replied, his eyes alighting on her and Rey blushed at the look he was giving her. No man had ever looked at her the way he was now: his eyes half-lidded and entirely attentive, his lips partially parted and so very close to hers. It would be a simple thing to raise herself onto the balls of her feet, to lean her hands against his chest, twine her fingers in his curls, and—

Forcibly shaking herself, heart fluttering like a wild beast in her chest and blush hot, Rey sidestepped him, moving into the main room. “Bathroom’s yours,” she said, unnecessarily, not chancing a glance back at him.

"Thanks,” he offered, sounding just as breathless as she felt.

Rey sat on the bed, not daring to dress until she heard the tub water beginning to run. Something—something indescribably beautiful and utterly _terrifying_ —had passed between them. She knew better than this; if nothing, the past few days had taught Rey to not trust blindly. To not be so susceptible to a handsome man with kissable lips, especially since that man may be apart of an organization set to destroy her life’s passion. Yet, not even the sensible part of her mind—the part she desperately relied on—could deny a pull to Kylo Ren that wasn’t carnal, it was innate.

#

True to Miss Ko’s word, after twenty minutes of sipping rich, black coffee and nibbling at maakouda batata potato cakes, Ambassador Organa appeared in the lounge’s grand archway. She was petite, with wiry steal-gray hair styled into a flattering chignon while her expensive suit skirt spoke of her political importance. Finn shot to his feet at her entrance—his mother would have been proud—but his attention was soon caught, and held, by the man and dog following closely behind the woman.

Rising far more graciously than Finn had, Chewie moved forward to offer his hand to the Ambassador, her limber fingers entirely engulfed by his much broader palm. “Leia,” Chewbacca greeted warmly, smile wide.

Returning the smile, the Ambassador replied, “It’s so good to see you, Chewie. It’s been too long.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Chewie replied, releasing her hand before gesturing to Finn, prompting him to step forward. “This is my associate, Finn. He’s a student of Egyptology, among other things.”

Finn exchanged a grin with Chewie before offering his hand to Ambassador Organa. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“And you,” she replied before pausing, fixing him with a curiously leery gaze. “Did Han drag you into this?”

 “Uh,” Finn croaked, blinking at the Ambassador’s pinning stare. He swore she could look straight through him; discover all his private thoughts and secrets. It was almost as disquieting as Maz’s observant, direct eyes. “No. Kind of the opposite; I sort of just started tagging along.”

Still wearing an unconvinced frown, the Ambassador allowed their hands to drop before waving them toward the armchairs, a clear invitation to reclaim their seats. Finn was only slightly dismayed to take the armchair opposite the young man's, silent up until that point, dog stationed dutifully at his feet. It wasn’t advisable for Finn to carefully monitor, so he didn’t linger overly long on the man, especially when the following conversation with the Ambassador was of utmost importance.

"This is my secretary, Poe Dameron,” the Ambassador introduced for Finn’s benefit as Miss Ko appeared with a tea set, serving it quietly.

 “How do you do?” Mister Dameron greeted, voice polite but his smile charming and easy as he leaned forward to offer his hand. Accepting it, Finn most certainly did _not_ notice how well their palms fit together before dropping the handshake as if his skin were scalded.

“Down to business then, Chewbacca. I’m guessing whatever it is you’re here to see me about, time is of the essence. Otherwise Han wouldn’t have sent you,” the Ambassador began briskly after accepting a cup of tea.

Cringing slightly but still adopting a congenial smile—even after six years, it was clear the Ambassador’s nerves were still raw—Chewie replied, “Well, we suspect a member of our expedition crew was taken prisoner by the Italians.”

“On what grounds?” she queried, brow quirked.

“Probably for aiding the evasion of enemies of the Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht.”

The Ambassador breathed out a long sigh. “God preserve us,” she mumbled before asking in a stronger tone: “What are they after? The temple?”

 “The Scales,” Chewbacca corrected, simply.

Finn watched with interest as the Ambassador’s expression turned incredulous. “‘ _The Scales?’”_ she repeated. “You’re telling me you’re fighting against the Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht over some mythological weighing machine?”

"They want to use it to win the war in Germany’s favor, Leia,” Chewie answered, tone not betraying any annoyance at her disbelief.

“Magic scales as a military strategy,” she scoffed. “What is the world coming to?”

“You’re one to talk,” Chewbacca intoned dryly.

The Ambassador frowned but offered no reply. Instead, after a moment of silence, Mister Dameron asked, leaning forward with interest: “So, you have found them?”

Glancing over at Mister Dameron, Finn found him staring intently in anticipation. Finn hurriedly diverted his eyes to Chewbacca. “No, nothing yet. We discovered a secret chamber thanks to Han’s assistant—”

“Rey?” Mister Dameron clarified.

Nodding, Chewie answered, “Yes, her. She found a secret passageway and chamber under the altar of Ma’at. There were beautiful hieroglyphics saying the Scales are at the delta of the River of Time, which—of course—leads to the Duat in the west. We think the Scales might be at the bottom of the Strait of Gibraltar.”

Mister Dameron sat back in his chair, contemplative as he rubbed at his chin. Finn briefly wondered how it could be the Ambassador so staunchly opposed the mere concept of the mythic Scales—though, admittedly, still outlandish to him—while her personal secretary seemed to be so enraptured by them.

There was no answer to Finn’s speculations as Ambassador Organa asked, “Did you say Rey? As in Rey Kenobi?” Her complexion had suddenly gone very pale.

"Yes,” Chewbacca replied. “Han took her on as his assistant.”

Ambassador Organa seemed deaf to Chewie’s response, expression far-off and preoccupied. “Oh dear,” she breathed.

“So you see the seriousness of the situation,” Chewie inferred after a moment, all eyes curiously fixed on the Ambassador’s stunned expression. Finn stole a glance to Mister Dameron, relieved to find he was equally as confused. Ignoring them, Chewbacca continued: “Han thinks you can free her on the grounds that’s she’s a part of an American archeological dig.”

"But the fact that she’s British may complicate matters,” Ambassador reasoned, suddenly adapting the same urgency of Chewie. “I’ll contact the Italian ambassador and begin negotiations. He owes me a favor but this may be too big to call in personal connections for.” A grave silence, each person devoted to their own grim thoughts of the fate of Rey at the hands of the Italians. With a rattling breath, Ambassador Organa asked, “Did Han go to the Strait?” From her tone, the Ambassador clearly already knew—and expected—the answer.

Chewbacca nodded. “He went to Eddalya.”

The Ambassador’s mouth thinned into a hard frown and Chewbacca’s furrowed brows was enough to prompt her to say: “Eddalya was where my brother was sighted last.”

 

_October 29, 1940: Eddalya, Morocco_

Han lifted his fedora briefly, swiping at his forehead, before replacing it atop his head. It was unseasonably warm for late October, even for him, as acclimatized as he was to the arid heat of the Egyptian desert. He grabbed for his canteen, taking a quick gulp, before continuing to lead the way along the winding footpath to the beach. On the white expense of powdery sand ahead was an arrangement of sun-tanners, luxurious women and wealthy men sprawled on lounge chairs or napping under umbrellas. There was a small congregation cloistered around a canvas-covered bar. Their laughter, light and airy—such a startling contrast to the events of the past few days—was almost jarring.

“Back to civilization,” Lando intoned, clearly not expecting a reply, as the path widened and he fell into step with Han.

Han’s grunt of agreement satisfied Lando.

They continued down the hill, joining the revelry unnoticed. Bracing his hands against his back, Han sighed heavily, eyes fixed on the azure, blue waters of the Strait stretching out before them. It was a clear day, the rocks on the opposite side of the channel in Spain a faint outline on the horizon, distant and almost a dream.

“So, if I were some magical Scales, where would I be?” Lando asked, chuckling at his own joke. Han shot him an irritated voice, going to reply waspishly, when a faint laugh of startled amusement drifted to their ears. Simultaneously quirking their brows, Han and Lando exchanged a quick glance: they knew that laugh. They'd recognize it anywhere.

Turning, they scanned the bistro tables clustered around the bar only to be flagged down by a man in a finely tailored, grossly expensive white linen suit. “Luke?” Lando breathed, surprised, just as Han muttered, “What the _fuck?”_

Navigating the shifting sands of the beach, the two hurried to Luke Skywalker—because, _unbelievably,_ it _was_ Luke Skywalker on a Moroccan beach, drinking whiskey—as he stood to pull a third chair up to his table. “What the fuck,” Han repeated when they reached Luke, now more of a declaration than an exclamation of astonishment.

Smiling vaguely, Luke replied, “Good to see you too, Han.”

Han grunted.

"Good to see you, buddy,” Lando greeted, smile bright as he and Luke shook hands. “How’ve you been?”

Luke sighed and Han had never before seen a man so worn down, so raggedly tired. Still, Luke worked at a convincing smile. “I’m holding it together.”

 Lando and Han exchanged a brief look, wisely both remaining silent. Instead, Han prompted, “Why, exactly, are you in Eddalya?”

“I was called here; I saw I would be sitting under an umbrella, drinking whiskey, with the rock of Gibraltar in the distance,” Luke replied, waving a hand vaguely, the scenery providing illustration to his description. “You’d both be bringing someone very important to me.”

“He didn’t follow us here, Luke,” Han replied, voice low and close to a growl. “I thought he would—I was almost confident—but he didn’t. He tracked us down to Rabat and I thought he’d follow us here but…” Astonishingly, Professor Solo was without words.

 “But he didn’t,” conclude Luke.

 Han nodded, not able to meet the hard eyes of his old friend. He always knew Luke was capable of seeing right through him—just as his sister did—and it was uncomfortable at the best of times. Now was certainly not the best of times.

After a silence, Luke prompted: “Why are you here?”

“You know perfectly well why,” Han refuted.

 Luke shrugged. “Humor me.”

Han gave him a hard glare, staying silent. Lando glanced between the two men before offering in an undertone, “We’re on the hunt for the Scales of Ma’at. The ‘lost’ temple at the Karnak was found and there was a secret chamber under the altar. It had clues leading us to believe that the Scales are in the delta of the River of Time. We think the delta is referring to the Straits. The Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht is also looking for Scales and it’s of utmost importance we find them before they do.”

Luke listened intently to the brief explanation—it was almost disconcerting to hear the drama of the past few days summarized so bluntly—only to snort when Lando concluded. “Bullshit,” he replied, factually. His eyes burrowed into Han. “That’s complete bullshit and you know it.” A pause and then: “But I suppose there was a purpose in leading everyone on a wild goose chase to Morocco?”

Han’s lips twisted, obviously wanting to deny Luke’s blunt statement just so Lando would stop looking at him with such outrage, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie in the face of such confrontation. Sighing heavily, Han snapped out, “Yes, okay, _fine._ Do you want me to admit I fucked everything up, Luke? Do you want me to beg you to fix things because—right about now—I’m really close to doing that.”

Finding his voice, Lando spluttered, “Han, are you shitting me? What the _hell_? Why did you drag all our asses to Morocco? Why are we _here?”_

Han glanced briefly at Lando but never fully turned his posture from Luke. “I had to follow through with the diversion. I wanted to lead the Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht—and, specifically, _Ben_ —away from Egypt so we could give them the slip and double back. I wanted to lead them here and get them all confused sniffing through the Strait while we went back.”

Lando shook his head, sighing warily and burying his hands. Voice muffled, Lando breathed, “ _What the fuck.”_

"Of course, that didn’t really work, did it?” Luke prodded Han.

Han threw up his hands, exasperated. “Yes, we’ve already established that,” he grounded out.

Ignoring him, Luke continued on, “That plan’s a little bit conceded of you, Han. Ben—of all people—knows you’re not nearly as important as Rey, the last Kenobi.”

“Wow, don’t worry about my feelings or anything,” Han commented to the air.

Luke grinned now as he stuck two fingers into the air, waving down a wandering waiter, and asking the two others: “Something to drink?”

“Yeah and make it strong,” Lando returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note:  
> -Rey's parents (Jinn and Aayla) are not actually Qui-Gon Jinn or the Jedi Master, Aayla. Obi Wan named his son Jinn in honor of his old friend, Qui-Gon Jinn while Aayla was also named in honor of the original Aayla.


	6. Chapter VI

_October 29, 1940: Rabat, Morocco_

Kylo reappeared at six o’clock, burdened with a brown grocery sack that was—if his struggling to open the door without upsetting its contents was any indication—both heavy and bulky. Rey, immobile at the small patio table on the balcony, book in hand, only blinked at his plight. Their communication was minimal since the previous evening, tension hanging between them that neither could quite acknowledge nor ignore.

Rey turned her eyes back to the Rabat skyline, relishing in the evening breeze sweeping in from the far-off blue haze of the Atlantic Ocean. Yet, her gaze was unseeing, her focus devoted to listening to the soft clattering of Kylo unloading his grocery sack. She felt his approach before she heard it, her skin prickling and her senses hyper aware. The scrap of a clay bowl on the mosaic tiles of the table drew her eyes away and down, finding a steaming pot of chicken tagine before her. An eyebrow arched on its own accord as she set aside her book and, more from habit than true courtesy, she mumbled out: “Thank you.”

Tone holding some warmth and—though she didn’t want to linger on the thought— _hope,_ he replied, “I thought you might be hungry. I hope you like spice.”

“Of course; I wouldn’t have lasted in Luxor otherwise,” Rey replied, stilted and awkward. He sat down opposite her and she remained determined not to look at him. Her emotions were a mix; a roiling concoction of irritation and betrayal yet the overpowering, intoxicating feelings of last night—bursting over her and impossible to forget—were stirred deep within her, too. It was a heady elixir, a slow-spreading poison, and she desperately didn’t want to address it.

There was silence between them, Rey wordlessly accepting the piece of aish merahrah and spoon Kylo offered her. She allowed herself to focus solely on shoveling food from the soup pot to her mouth, careful to not let the broth dribble onto her chin. During her early schooling years at Niima, it was a part of the curriculum to take etiquette classes; she had failed spectacularly at the time but—right then—she relished in drilling herself in properly scooping the tagine broth away from her, of not hunching over her food, of not slurping. It was a welcome distraction.

She knew she was being childish, being cowardly, in ignoring Kylo. He was kind to bring her food, kind to save her from the Italians—though Rey knew his motivations weren’t entirely benevolent—but his rights didn’t account for his wrongs; for his allegiances.

Kylo broke the void of stillness after he swallowed down a bite of chicken and flat bread. “Can’t we go back?”

“What?” Rey asked, finally staring up at him. Her stomach flopped uncomfortably; she wished she hadn’t looked but it was too late to correct her mistake. Resolutely, she kept her gaze on him.

“Can’t we go back to just being a man and woman flirting in the bazaar?” Kylo clarified, dark eyes steadily meeting hers. He was making it very hard to _not_ look away.

She snorted. “No.”

His mouth twisted into a frown. “Why not?” he prodded.

Rey narrowed her eyes, staring hard, judging if he really wanted an honest answer. She decided she’d give it to him, anyway. “Because we were never ‘ _just’_ a man and a woman; your intentions towards me have always been bad. You exploited me and played me as a fool and I let you. We can’t come back from that.”

She watched, defiantly, as his jaw jumped—later, she would reflect that Kylo both had a quick temper and a quick hold on it—and his lips drew tight. “Rey,” he breathed out, tone edged with contained irritation. “I can assure you my intentions toward you in the bazaar were never anything except…” He paused, searching around for a word. Finally, he settled on: “Amorous.”

Rey scoffed. “I thought you promised you’d never lie to me.”

His brows furrowed and a muscle in his left cheek twitched. It was Kylo who broke their eye contact, staring down at his pot of chicken tagine. After scooping up another mouthful and chasing it with a torn piece of flat bread, he offered: “What will it take for you to trust me?”

“Why do you want me to trust you?” she countered, not helping the curiosity encroaching on her tone. His deceit, his loyalty all spoke toward only a desire to destroy her, her friends, and everything she believed in. There would be no logical reason he should want her trust: he already held her in this tiny hotel room. If he wanted information from her, she doubted he would fail in extracting it with his Reichsbund training.

Kylo’s eyes flicked back up to her. “You know the answer to that question.”

She blinked. Unthinkably, Rey _did_. It made no reasonable sense but, instinctually, it made all the sense in the world. No words could quite describe what it was she understood or why she did; it simply _was._

Studying her expression, Kylo offered: “I’ll take you to the American embassy tomorrow. You’ll find friends there.”

Rey’s mouth popped open in surprise yet her throat could produce no reply. From how he hunched over his dinner, consuming it with a righteous determination, it was clear the declaration wasn’t open for elaboration.

#

Somewhere nearing midnight, Rey finally slipped into sleep, and—the peculiar thing was—she _knew_ she was in a dream. Yet, the hotel room was just the same as when she last closed her eyes. Moonlight slipped in under and through the cracks of the heavy, drawn drapes, dappling her linen sheets and casting the room in a faint silvery glow. Glancing briefly down to her left, she found Kylo’s makeshift bed—a staple of the floor—to be cleared away, the duvet returned to the foot of her bed. She frowned but then a warm hand was brushing against her cheek, urging to look away from the floor and to the right with a warm pressure.

Heart hammering wildly— _this is a dream,_ she assured herself in a steady mantra—she allowed her head to turn and found herself transfixed by the dark eyes, his face so close and breath so warm on her skin, of Kylo Ren. There was that look again, that look no man had ever before given her, but now Rey could assign a name to it: passion, hot and inextinguishable and _needy_.

It was all the prompting she needed to realize she felt the same, consuming her and driving her.

Bowing her head, her lips were on his mouth—for once not downward cast or tightly drawn—and she was twining her fingers in his dark curls, pulling him up to her. Her lips were ravenous but he returned her attentions slowly, carefully, attending to her needs with consideration. She wanted to scream—irritated—but then she was sighing into his mouth as his hands were suddenly gripping her hips, hot against her cold skin.

Though her thoughts were elsewise distracted, she had enough consciousness to note another difference from the waking world: her nightclothes were entirely absent.

But then his mouth was moving from hers, traveling along her jaw and planting kisses and nips. She tensed as he kissed behind her ear, the skin sensitive. Sensing her stiffness, his hands slid up to her forearms, rubbing them in reassurance. It was an oddly tender gesture and she willing relaxed into his touch, allowing him to travel down from her neck, to her collarbone. Now her breath caught, his tongue trailing along the hyper receptive skin. She felt entirely vulnerable, her neck so exposed to him and completely at his mercy, seduced by his touch. Yet, most peculiar of all, she desperately wanted him never to _stop_.

She was completely given to him, as his mouth explored every curvature and crevice of her breasts, his hands trailing reverently over her, and she finally unwound her fingers from his hair. As her hands journeyed over the hard muscles of his shoulders and upper back, she breathed: “ _Kylo_.”

He stilled under her fingers.

In an instant, his mouth was removed from her, leaving her very cold, and he was scrambling away from her. His eyes were fixed on hers; the passion entirely evaporated and replaced with a very wakeful urgency. When he spoke, after what felt like a lifetime, his tone was tight and earnest: “You need to wake up.”

Commanded to do so, she gasped and she was sitting up in bed, nightclothe in place and forehead glistening with sweat. Staring wildly around, she barely registered the silver dappling of moonlight before her eyes fixed on Kylo, arranged on the makeshift bed on the floor. He slept restlessly, twitching and lips forming indecipherable, mute words.

Nibbling her lower lip, Rey slowly laid back, hands arranged over her stomach—she resolutely ignored the ghostly sensation of Kylo’s hands and mouth on her skin—instead making careful inspection of the plaster ceiling. She didn’t dare sleep for the remainder of the evening.

 

_October 30, 1940: Eddalya, Morocco_

It was early morning when Han woke and found he couldn’t get back to sleep. Wandering down from the cramped guest room Luke set him and Lando up in the night before, he found the others in the kitchen. Luke was attending to a skillet of eggs, a plate of sausage and bacon cooling to the stove’s right.

“Morning,” Lando offered as Han took a seat at his side, perching himself on the high chair at the breakfast bar. Han grunted in reply, not much for talk right after literally rolling out of bed.

Wordlessly, Luke fetched a mug from a cluster on the counter and poured out a steaming stream of amber from a pot on the stove. He set it before Han before returning to the eggs and dishing them out. The heady scent of coffee met Han’s nostrils and he sighed in relief, shooting a brief grin to Luke in gratitude.

Silence descended again as Luke prepared three plates with eggs, sausage, and bacon—shaking paprika onto the eggs, obviously having developed a taste for spicy Moroccan food—before sliding them before his guests. Lando was the first to speak, asking, “Luke; yesterday, when you said we’d bring someone important to you, you were talking about Rey and not Ben, right?”

Luke, standing opposite Lando and Han with no indication of wanting to sit, replied after a bite of bacon. After crunching on it for a moment, he replied, “No, of course not. If Ben were to find me here, it’d be disastrous.”

“What do you mean?” Han asked, finally feeling human and civil enough to attempt speech.

Finishing the bacon strip, Luke replied, “Ben’s a magician of Set; Vader’s apprentice, in fact. If he was to come for me, I wouldn’t be able to defeat him. He’s not in the same cycle.” Lando’s perplexed expression prompted Luke to begin: “I’m Ra’s magician, right?”

“Right,” Lando agreed, slowly, wondering where this was leading. He hoped he wasn’t staring at Luke like he was crazy though he was certainly _thinking_ it. Lando stole a glance over to Han, finding his expression entirely neutral, as if hearing Luke declare himself the ‘magician’ of an ancient god was perfectly normal.

“Well, either Ra or Horus’ chosen magicians can defeat an agent of Set. Since Ra and Horus are both sun gods with the same powers—broadly speaking—we have the power to defeat Set. But, just like with Set and Horus themselves, each time the story must be played out in sequence, meaning—since I defeated Vader—it is not within my power to defeat the next magician of Set,” Luke explained with a factual disinterest.

“So, basically, if Ben were to want to kill you, you could literally not do anything about it?” Lando surmised.

“Basically,” Han interjected, “Luke’s a sitting duck.”

“More or less,” Luke agreed, inclining his head. “Which is why Rey is so important.”

Lando, trying very hard to understand, asked: “Do you think she’s the next magician of Ra?” With further thought, Lando realized he was more surprised by his reaction than the actual conversation. It was surreal, sitting at his old friend’s kitchen table, being told he was some sort of magician of an ancient, pagan god and treating the claim as if it was perfectly legitimate. After everything Lando had seen—for his research, on this particular shitty expedition—he really could believe just about anything. Though it was one thing to believe in the Scales of Ma’at—though Lando had thought of them possessing a _metaphorical_ power—it was quite another to be confronted with a ‘magician.’

Yet, he reasoned, Han’s dumbass plan to distract the Reichsbund was far more shocking, and that offered him some comfort.

Later, Lando decided, he’d have a minor panic attack about all this weird magic shit and— _maybe_ —feel the slightest bit betrayed none of his friends had seen him fit to tell. For now, he intently focused on understanding what he was unexpectedly involved in because, without a doubt, he was definitely _involved._

“No, she’s a magician of Horus,” replied Luke, shaking his head as he started in on his eggs. Reminding Lando of his own food, he hurriedly began eating, pleasantly surprised to find the sausage so flavorful.

Han sat in grim silence, not touching his food, instead nursing his coffee.

Pausing to swallow, Luke continued: “It’s in her blood. The Kenobi family has been magicians for that branch of the gods for generations. Old Ben Kenobi served Geb and his son served Isis. When Aayla married into the family, she was chosen by Osiris. It’s possible Isis or Osiris may have chosen Rey as their new magician but I believe Horus has claimed her to defeat this new threat of Set’s.” Lando nodded slowly. He wondered if a particular branch of the gods chose the Skywalkers and, without needing to verbalize the question, he decided it in a resounding affirmative.

“Did you see Rey in your vision from Ra?” Han spoke up, setting aside his now empty cup of coffee and starting in on his food.

“Yes. She was supposed to be here but the gods can never account for each other’s intervention,” Luke answered.

Seeing Lando’s furrowed brow, confusion riddling his face, Han interpreted: “Luke’s saying that the vision was fucked with because Ra couldn’t account for Set’s intervention.”

“Ah,” Lando replied, nodding as clarification dawned on him. After chewing a mouthful of egg thoughtfully, Lando asked, “So, its really, _really_ bad news that the Italians caught Rey?”

“If it means Ben can get to her, yes,” Luke replied, Han having filled him in on the drama aboard the train to Tangier the evening prior. “And let’s hope he hasn’t. Although, I’m fearing the worst if Set blurred my vision.”

“What about the Scales, then?” Han asked. “Isn’t that what we’re all running around about in the end?”

“What about the Scales, indeed?” Luke concurred. Lando focused on his sausage to restrain from reaching across the counter and shaking Luke to stop him from being so damn enigmatic.

“It’s possible that Set is trying to end the cycle of fighting once and for all,” Han mused, swallowing a bite of egg. “The Scales would weigh in the favor of chaos and, if they’re in a magician’s possession, it could never be shifted back. The world would be plunged into permanent destruction.”

"Makes sense why Ben joined the Nazis then,” Lando added. “A means to an end.”

“Which means it’s of the utmost importance we find the Scales and recover Rey as soon as possible. I’ll need her help to protect the Scales from Ben,” Luke said, nodding as he ate his last sausage.

“Because you’re basically useless,” Han replied, tone peevish.

Snorting, Luke replied: “Yeah, that.”

Just then, there was an urgent knock on the front door—not far from the kitchen—and Lando nearly toppled from his chair in surprise. Briskly setting aside his fork, Luke swiped his hands on a dishtowel, before going to wrench the door open. On the opposite side stood a young boy, dressed in the smart uniform of the post office. He offered a paper to him, rattling off an announcement in French, and Luke took the telegram in exchange for a few coins.

When the door was closed once more, Luke turned his attention to the message, eyebrows rising steadily. Lando and Han watched him in tense silence, both trying to discern meaning from Luke’s expression.

Glancing up to them, Luke offered, his voice tight, “It’s from Leia. Rey just showed up at the embassy.”

 

_October 30, 1940: Rabat, Morocco_

The night’s chill still clung to Rabat when Kylo led Rey from the hotel, the morning sun just breaching the horizon and the buildings casting frigid shadows onto the streets below. They moved on hurried, silent feet, concerned about being spotted. Though nearly indistinguishable as a German officer in a summer suit and matching fedora, Kylo’s unnatural height still marked him apart—marked him for notice—amongst the few vendors and merchants who were beginning to set up their businesses for the day, silent and blurry-eyed.

It was strange to Rey to be navigating the streets; she had only been cooped inside the hotel room for two days though, trapped with her worries and the source of most of them—Kylo—it was a welcomed kindness to be outside. The chill morning air rattled down her throat, brisk and cleansing, dispelling any lingering restlessness from the night before, almost taking with it any memories of her dream.

Still, she couldn’t quite meet Kylo’s eyes. If she did, she would’ve found he couldn’t quite meet her gaze either.

As they hurried along, Rey asked softly, “Are you sure it’s safe for you to take me to the American embassy?”

She could feel his eyes turn to her in surprise. He returned, “Of course its not safe.” A pause. His tone wasn’t harsh but rather factual; he added: “But then, nothing’s really safe anymore with those lunatics running around.”

“Careful, that almost sounded traitorous,” Rey warned, glancing up at him with a small grin.

Though he returned her smile, he snorted. “Against the Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht?”

“Or the Nazi party in general,” Rey provided.

Shaking his head, he shrugged. “I told you it’s all a means to an end.”

“And, as I’ve told you, I have no idea what you mean by that,” replied Rey. She knew she was ruining the carefree attitude—an attitude foreign to this version of Kylo Ren but not the one she met in the bazaar, a version she very much missed—but now may be her last chance to coerce answers from him: if he was leading her to the embassy, she would hopefully never see him again. But, if this whole outing was a disguise for marching her into the hands of Colonel Hux, than she doubted she’d be amongst the living next he saw her.

She shoved the thought aside; she promised herself she wouldn’t even pause to _consider_ that option. Allowing her thoughts to fall down dark, metaphorical rabbit holes wouldn’t help.

Kylo didn’t reply for a very long time; they ventured from the street market, left down a smaller avenue, and then turned right at the end of that block before he answered, quietly, “Just remember, when you go into that embassy and back to your friends, it has never been my intention to hurt you. I’d like to be considered your friend, too, though next time we meet, I won’t be able to save you.”

At some point—Rey was uncertain when, precisely—they stopped walking and were facing each other. He was looking her _that_ way again and Rey hurriedly glancing away, face heating at the unwanted recollection of the dream.

“Yeah, well,” she answered, voice a high squeak, “Same goes for you.”

To her surprise—and secret delight, though she’d never admit it—a surprised laugh bubbled from him. Not helping herself, she grinned up at him. “No need to be so modest,” he replied around his chuckles to which she shrugged. When his laughter subsided, they found themselves engulfed in a silence, neither sure how, or if they _wanted_ , to break it. There existed so much between them—a thick, substantial myriad of messy, tangled emotions—that, for an instant, both were rendered entirely speechless. But then, Kylo relocated his voice. “This is as far as I can go. Follow this street for a quarter of a mile. The embassy will be on your left. You can’t miss it; it has American flags everywhere.”

Rey nodded. A ‘thank you’ was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t quite force it out. It seemed wrong to thank a Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht officer, a man who had deliberately deceived her, had abducted her. Granted, he claimed only good intentions behind all his actions and, while her brain denounced him as a liar, something far more persuasive—she refused to call it her ‘heart’ for fear of making herself yet more naïve—whispered at her to trust him, _trust him._

She stared up at him and—for the first time since he charged into the secret chamber in Ma’at’s temple—he was once again Kylo Ren, a young American who just wanted to take a pretty girl out on a date. There was his engaging stare, eliciting a furious blush; there was his carelessly tussled dark curls; there was his full, kissable lips.

Not allowing herself a moment’s hesitation, Rey was tugging on the lapels of Kylo’s suit, pulling him down as she stood on her toes. Their lips met, hot and awkward, equally stunned for only a fraction of a second. Then Kylo realized what was happening. His large hands cradled the back of her head, holding her mouth to his, and deepened the kiss until Rey had almost entirely lost her balance. When they broke apart, lips pinked, Rey allowed herself to stare up at him, memorizing his expression in this precise moment—the shocked delight, the tinge of confusion—before she turned on her heel and rushed ahead.

Fearing his expression, she didn’t look back.

#

Finn rose early the next morning, feeling more rested and awake then he had in months. Or rather, since he left Alexandria with Colonel Hux which— _unthinkably—_ was four days ago. It may have been four lifetimes ago.

Drawn to the quiet mumble of voices, one rumbling at a deeper register than the rest and most certainly Chewbacca, Finn padded down from the guest wing of the embassy compound. As he descended the stairs, the voices became more distinguishable and he realized it was not only an older man and woman conversing but a young, British female as well. A bright smile broke across his face; he sprinted.

Skidding into the lounge—already set up with breakfast tea, coffee, and an assortment of pastries and fruit—he found Chewbacca, Ambassador Organa, and Rey gathered around the low, coffee table. Startled, they blinked over at Finn’s sudden arrival. “Rey!” he shouted, bounding in. “You’re here; I can’t believe it!”

He bodily scooped her up from her armchair, enveloping her in a tight hug, never pausing to consider he had only known her less than ninety-six hours. She laughed, the breath squeezed out of her, as she patted his back in return, replying, “Finn! I can’t really believe it either!”

Releasing her from the hug and holding her at arm’s length, carefully inspecting her, Finn asked, “Are you okay? The Italians didn’t rough you up too badly, did they?” This caused another thought to occur to him. “Wait, how did you get here?”

“That’s what we were just asking her if you’d like to let Miss Kenobi sit back down,” Ambassador Organa spoke up then.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Finn replied sheepishly, releasing his hold on Rey so she could reclaim her seat. He went to gather a plate of oranges, cantaloupe, and a pecan pastry. Miss Kaydel Ko seemed to materialize solely to hand him a cup of coffee—two sugars, no cream.

As Finn prepared his breakfast and arranged himself in the chair next to Rey, Ambassador Organa prompted: “So, as you were saying?”

Rey shifted uncomfortably, pointedly not meeting the Ambassador’s gaze. “Honestly, if I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me.”

Ambassador Organa quirked a singularly disbelieving brow. “Try me.”

Feigning great interest in her tea, Rey didn’t reply. Finn studied her closely, keenly interested in the slight blush beginning to tint her cheeks. In his very brief acquaintance with Rey, he would never peg her as the type of girl to blush easily nor deceive willingly. It was plain to him her evasion of a confession was pointedly—and calculatedly—done; she was protecting someone. Someone who had done her a kindness and who would be in grave danger if the Ambassador were to discover of their assistance. Perhaps Rey was assisted by an Italian deserter or a deeply undercover mole?

To his great surprise, Finn found himself saying: “With all due respect, Ambassador, Rey’s probably had a really bumpy couple of days. Maybe we should just take her word for it for the time being.”

The Ambassador’s lips tightened, obviously preparing a scathing comment—Finn braced himself for the onslaught—but the conversation was saved by the timely entrance of Mister Dameron, thundering in like a swashbuckling hero from a movie. Finn ignored the sudden thought that Mister Dameron bore a very strong resemblance to Cary Grant.

“Ambassador,” Mister Dameron began, interrupting—mercifully—without heed of any prior conversation. “A reply from Mister Skywalker.” Brandishing a telegram, he strode across the lounge to deliver it into the outstretched hand of the Ambassador.

“That was fast,” Chewbacca observed, the first time he had spoken since Finn’s entrance. Rey and Finn both stole furtive glances over at the older man; his expression was taut, deeply contemplating the proceedings and passing silent judgment. Rey wondered why he hadn’t saved her from the Ambassador’s nettling questions and Finn wondered much the same.

There was a pause as the Ambassador read over the telegram, her already grim expression turning morbid. “Lord preserve us,” she muttered. Turning her gaze up to their expectant faces, she said, “Han and Lando are with Luke. They want you all to meet them back in Alexandria in three days’ time, on November second.”

“Alexandria?” spluttered Finn as Rey simultaneously gasped out: “ _What?”_

Shaking her head, the Ambassador replied, “He simply says, ‘They’re not here,’ which I can only assume means the Scales. I’m guessing he finally realized the Egyptians would never sink an artifact of power like the Scales so far from home.”

“So you’re saying the Scales are real?” Mister Dameron asked, obvious excitement written on his face. It was strangely endearing to Finn.

Ignoring him, she continued, “Though heaven’s know how you’re going to get back to Egypt. The Italians and Brits have completely shut down the Dakar-Cairo line with their fighting.”

“What? When?” Chewbacca asked, sitting forward with urgent, intense interest.

“We received reports just last night, when I was making inquiries about Miss Kenobi,” Ambassador Organa replied. A tense silence followed, each realizing the same truth with identical sinking, nauseating clarity: they were blockaded out of Egypt and the Scales.

Mister Dameron offered, unafraid to barge into the silence: “I could fly you back; my Klemm can carry six passengers comfortably.”

“Do you really think flying a _German_ plane over _anti-aircraft_ guns is a good idea?” demanded Chewbacca immediately, his tone implying Mister Dameron was an idiot.

Not to be deterred, Dameron reasoned: “Well, the Italians will think we’re allies and the Ambassador can arrange for the Brits to not shoot us, right, Ambassador?” He rounded an eager grin on his employer.

She met the beaming grin with a frown, considering the proposition with careful thought. Hers would be the deciding voice on this, their only feasible—if slightly ridiculous—plan to return to Egypt. Mouth tight, she sighed, saying, “I don’t like it one bit, Dameron. Not one bit. But, I’ll see what I can do; I’ll need every second of the next two days to make it happen if you’re to back to Alexandria on November second.”


	7. Chapter VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update! This week has been the pits.

_January 20, 1934: North Atlantic Ocean_

It was a frigid night, spray from the rough waves borne on the winds to the top decks of the _Finalizer,_ and it was unnaturally dark. The only acknowledgement Kylo gave to the arctic temperature was hugging his heavy, dark wool coat tighter against his torso. His expression, his actions, besides were singularly passive. Mouth set neutrally still, ears deaf to the wind whistling around him, he peered out across the rough waters, as if expecting to discern something at any moment.

Perhaps he did; perhaps he strained to catch the first faint outlines of the British Isles. Perhaps he expected some signal from his teacher. Perhaps he simply stared for want of something to look forward to. Breath rattling in his throat, icy air hollowing out his insides, his ears detected an undercurrent to the wind. He did not turn at Captain Hux’s arrival. He could perfectly imagine the man’s sneer without the need to look at him.

Stopping at Kylo’s shoulder, hands behind his back, Hux’s voice was brisk, as it always was: “A telegram has arrived; it’s been done.”

“I know,” Kylo replied and, for once, he wasn’t simply saying it to annoy Hux. Though it was great fun to imply foreknowledge where Hux had none—Hux, who swanned around the destroyer as though he was _so_ _very_ important; Hux, who constantly competed with Kylo for Darth Vader’s attentions—Kylo now spoke truly. He had felt a disturbance in the air, as if the whole world shifted to the left and had not righted itself. An essential piece of the universe had been forcibly removed.

It was dangerous to criticize their teacher’s—Darth Vader—wisdom and plainly foolish to disagree with their Master, Set. Yet, as Kylo stood on the top deck of the _Finalizer,_ his stomach roiled from something beyond the stormy sea, he couldn’t shake the feeling that what Vader had done was _wrong;_ unnatural beyond Set’s ultimate goal of unleashing pure, righteous chaos upon the world.

Hux’s lips twisted into a scowl. “All right you, brat,” he spat. Hux was always quick to remind Kylo he was barely past his fifteenth birthday. “Guess you don’t need me to tell you what the rest of the telegram said.”

“What did it say?” Kylo asked, voice neutral and making it clear he was unperturbed by Hux’s bating. Again, he knew the answer—knew it and feared it—but if he didn’t hear it spoken aloud, didn’t hear it commanded by Vader, he could convince himself it was all a terrible dream. A mistake.

“Vader is ordering you to London. He wants you to finish off the girl they left behind,” Hux answered and Kylo forced himself not to swallow heavily at the conviction. Vader told him before he left to kill _them_ off—the Kenobis, the magicians of Iris and Osiris—and there was no doubt it would be done. It was an opportunity for Kylo to prove himself, to finally overshadow Hux.

Kylo nodded, detached. His voice was empty as he asked: “Are we going there now?”

“The course has been set,” Hux returned. “We’ll be arriving by this afternoon.” He waited, poised for a reply, but, when it became apparent one wasn’t forthcoming, turned on his heel and departed without a word. Kylo didn’t acknowledge his exit just as he did Hux’s entrance.

Hux seemed unimportant—small and conceded—in comparison to the horrors the morning sun, rising from the inky waters of the Atlantic, would bring: proving himself to Set by killing another magician. By murdering the Kenobi’s daughter.

 

_November 2, 1940: Libyan air space_

They stopped to refuel in Tripoli, Mister Dameron promising they were never in danger of running out of gas but merely wanting to fill their tank as an add precaution in reaching Alexandria. No in the customized black-and-orange Klemm Kl 36 dared to verbalize exactly what dangers they were taking precautions for; it was mutually understood. As Chewbacca had explained the previous afternoon to Rey, it would take more jet fuel to get the little plane cruising at a high enough altitude to evade the anti-aircraft weaponry.

Of course, Ambassador Organa—now situated in the middle row of the three sets of twos in the cramped cockpit, white summer suit pristine—had assured them the Brits would not shoot. It still remained to be seen if Mister Dameron’s assertion that the Italians would naturally assume the Klemm was an ally would prove correct.

Bounding back into the cockpit, waving brightly to the ground crew at the tiny airfield they had stopped at, Mister Dameron announced to no one in particular: “These guys are the best; always give me a great rate.”

There was no reply, though Rey watched as Finn—seated next to the Ambassador in the middle row—visibly searched around for a response. When none came to mind, Finn settled back in his chair, downcast. Rey restrained a snort.

As the Klemm’s engines roared back to life, only quiet for ten minutes or so, the propeller on the plane’s nose gaining speed, Chewbacca asked, voice carrying over the noise, “How did you get this plane, anyway?”

“Won her off a German in a poker game down in Cape Town back in ’36,” Mister Dameron replied, also shouting. “Had to get it painted. She was tan and had a swastika on it, poor baby.” He rubbed affectionately at the wheel.

Chewbacca raised his eyebrows faintly, glancing back as Rey rolled her eyes. She had a growing fondness for Mister Dameron but, from his attitude to his little dog—Bebe, unfortunately, had to remain in the care of Miss Ko—he had a tendency toward ridiculousness. Chewie smothered a bark of laughter.

Outside of the cockpit, a ground crewmember was gesturing them away from the airfield’s hangar and fueling station, directing with orange cones. Giving the man a thumbs-up, Mister Dameron had the plane rolling. Into his headset, he reported, “Roger that tower; we’re ready to go.” A pause as the plane cruised to align with the long runway strip. A faint buzz echoed through from Poe’s headset and he replied, “Thanks, bud. See you next time.”

With that, the little Klemm sprung forward, throwing the four passengers and one pilot back against their seats as they charged the long pavement, yellow stripes of paint flashing beneath them faster and faster until it was just one long blur. The engines thrummed, matching Mister Dameron’s enthusiasm, and then—with a breathless, heart-pounding shutter—the wheels were off the ground and they were airborne.

Unlike the first takeoff from the Rabat airstrip in the early hours of the morning, Rey didn’t clutch at her seat in anxious tension. Now, entirely at ease, she watched the Nafusa foothills—coated in thick emerald foliage—rise from the urban sprawl below only to become just as miniscule as the houses and neighborhoods. The plane banked right and they plunged into the belly of a low cloud, breaking through after a moment.

The morning—and the journey—from Rabat to Tripoli had been clear, the sky an endless expanse of blue. It was disquieting to peer out of the window only to see the world, fuzzy and discolored, far below. Now, skimming along the clouds, it was as though they had entered another world entirely. For one breathless, beautiful moment, Rey entirely forgot about the earth, growing ever farther below them, and surrendered herself to the white, fluffy expanse.

She marveled at the formation of cumulus clouds below, rising and intersecting with the strati above. Smile wide, she glanced around the cockpit to share in her delight only to find the Ambassador engrossed in paperwork and Finn clutching onto his seat, eyes squashed tightly shut. Chewbacca was keeping careful watch on Mister Dameron. Rey shook her head, settling back to watch the clouds roll by.

Fingers woven over her stomach, Rey wasn’t sure how long she sat in that attitude—mind dazed and contented—but then the plane shook violently, jolting her from her reverie.

“What was that?” demanded Chewie immediately.

“Shit,” was Mister Dameron’s only reply as he switched at several knobs on the console above his head before returning his hands to a white-knuckled grip on the wheel. The plane shuttered again, a loud explosion seemingly right underneath them.

“Are they _firing_ at us?” shouted Finn. “I thought you said they wouldn’t fire at us!”

This second comment was directed at the Ambassador who, papers crinkled in her hands, was gripping at her chair just as Finn was. She returned his glare with a calm stare. “I said the British wouldn’t fire at us.”

“How do they know we’re up here?” Finn demanded, voice hoarse. His forehead gleamed with sweat.

No one had a response as there was another explosion—this one followed by a second that was far closer than any thus far—and Poe sent the plane into a steep climb. “Hang on!” Mister Dameron shouted.

“If we get blown out of the sky because of your stupid plan so help me—” Chewie roared, leaving the threat open and menacing.

Finn shot back: “That’s not helping the situation!”

Mister Dameron, sounding distinctly amused, muttered, “Thanks for the confidence, folks.”

Rey was deaf to them, eyes wide as she stared down. Time seemed to have slowed, the plane not climbing and evading fast enough, the warhead of the last missile lethargic as it swam through the sky towards them. Suddenly—with undeniable clarity and certainty—Rey realized this missile would impact the plane and erase them from the sky.

 _Call on your powers, Rey,_ a voice—the same voice from the temple in Luxor, not quite female or male—whispered in her ear. Too panicked by the approaching missile to be startled over the disembodied voice, Rey only swallowed and nodded.

Later, she wouldn’t be able to truly recount what she did. All she knew was, after a deep breath of courage, she focused entirely on her desperate, urgent need to protect her friends; to keep them alive and safe.

Time caught up with her in that single breath, the warhead lurching upward at its normal, rapid rate. The others in the plane finally took notice of it. Someone was screaming but it was a far-off, muted sound to Rey; pain throbbed in her forehead, her chest was tightening and her skin felt too small. One hand splayed against the plane’s window and the other cradling her head, she didn’t allow her focus to waver. Suspended in a strange trance, she was outside of the plane, wind whipping around her and squished flat, spread thin. There was a thought that tickled her brain with realization: she was a shield.

Still the missile grew closer, mere feet away.

Then, its path was disrupted abruptly, impacting with an invisible barrier and—instead of ramming into the belly of the plane or exploding—it merely spun, nose-over-tail, back towards the earth. When it was two hundred feet or so below, it exploded into a spectacularly fiery inferno.

Rey paid no mind, doubling over with a gasp, clutching her stomach. Her ears registered the startled cries of, “ _Rey!”_ but then she lost consciousness before her forehead collided with the hard, metal floor, succumbing to glorious, restive blackness

 

_November 2, 1940: Alexandria, Egypt_

Lando, Han, and Luke stood in silent vigil, keeping close watch on the private airstrip Lando had booked just the afternoon before for their friends’ arrival. Tension—unspoken and anxious—had long since settled between them, none wanting to give voice to the worries and possibilities plaguing them.

Foremost in Han’s mind—the thought he desperately attempted to evade but found harder and more impossible to avoid with the steady march of minutes ticking on—was the impending arrival of his wife, Leia Organa.

He hadn’t seen her in six years; six long years since their son forsook his parents and Good for the teachings of his grandfather, Darth Vader, magician of Set. Ben— _their_ Ben—was only thirteen when he fled in 1932, seduced by the promise of power from Vader. Han and Leia had struggled through two years together—two years of hurt and blame—before she left for the market one morning and never came home.

Han’s fingers clenched into tight fists at his sides; Luke had defeated Vader—his own father—in 1936, triggering an earthquake in Cansiglio, Italy but Ben was already thoroughly indoctrinated, already in too deep. He had joined the Nazis to further Set’s mission and now took orders from Henry Hux— _that arrogant redheaded_ _prick_ —more salt to the metaphorical wound.

The low hum of an approaching plane brought Han’s attention back to the present.

Glancing up, he watched with squinted eyes against the last afternoon sun as an orange and black plane—a Klemm from the look of it—made its slow, careful descent from the cloud-dappled sky. Although it appeared perfectly normal, the plane in one piece and handling as it should, there was something distinctly off about the sight. It set Han’s teeth on edge.

In a quiet voice, Luke murmured: “I can sense Rey’s presence but not her mind.”

The three men all shared a look, faces drawn with the implications, before returning their eyes to the plane. It took an eternity for it to touch down on the landing strip, the engines roaring as Dameron—Han could recognize the cheeky bastard a mile away—slowed it, cranking back on the breaks. The ground crew swarmed the pavement, shepherding the plane into taxiing to the mouth of the hangar, where Luke, Han, and Lando stood with ever more impatience.

Finally, as the engines rumbled into silence and the hatch on the plane’s side hissed opened, the three men breathed a collective sigh. Framed by the metal doorway, stood Ambassador Organa, her suit slightly ruffled but expression unperturbed, as always. Pausing as the ground crew hurried to push the rolling ladder to the hatch, she descended with an easy grace.

Watching her, Han wasn’t sure what exactly to do with himself; he wanted to surge forward and gather his wife—the woman he still loved, despite of everything and _because_ of everything—in his arms and kiss her senseless, but then he wanted to run away all in the same instant. Seeing her staring at him, expression indecipherable as she met his eyes unflinchingly, he knew something was broken between them that could not be fixed with kisses. The specter of their son between them kept Han’s feet firmly rooted.

He ignored the brief, questioning glance Lando shot at him.

Then Finn appeared, scrambling down the ladder only to turn back as Chewbacca—Rey, unconscious and limp, gathered in his arms—followed. “We need to get her somewhere safe right away,” Chewie said, unnecessarily as Luke, Han, and Lando scrambled to help Finn lower Rey down.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Han was immensely relieved he had excuse not to speak to Leia right then.

#

Rey’s eyes snapped open and she found her cheek squashed against the cold windowpane of a train compartment. She knew—she wasn’t of a mind to consider _how,_ precisely—she was aboard the Arlberg Orient Express, though the landscape beyond her window was dark and offered no hint to her location. The familiar smells of engine grease, of wood lacquer, of suitcase leather permeated the air, and—underfoot—the train car bounced over the rickety track.

Rubbing her palms into her eyes, she frowned. Last she remembered, she was in a plane piloted by Poe Dameron, being shot at by Italian anti-aircraft missiles. There was a warhead and they were about to be hit. Rey recalled it with perfect clarity, she watched it torpedo up to them, but—beyond that—it was all fuzzy. There was a great deal of pain, sharp and impossible to ignore, and it built behind her temples until she was sure her brain was being squeezed in a vice grip. After, there was only darkness.

Rey’s frown deepened.

_Did I die? Is this the afterlife?_

“You’re not dead,” a voice drawled and Rey’s head snapped up. Sitting parallel to her, leaning casually against the window and dark eyes fixed lazily on her, was Kylo Ren.

How had she not noticed him? He was sprawled across his bench with a comfortable, easy confidence; his tall frame dominating much of her view it seemed impossible for her to have not taken note. Reading her expression easily, he flashed her with a slight, slow grin. Instead of offering an answer, he only reiterated, “You’re not dead.”

Rey blinked, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she asked, voice halting and croaky, “Then…then where am I? What is this place?”

Glancing around, Kylo offered a shrug. “I’m not sure. You tell me.”

“We’re on a train. I think it’s the Alberg Orient Express,” Rey replied, studying the golden embossment on the compartment’s door—the ‘A’ and ‘O’ twining together with a flourish—before adding, “It’s the train I rode down from London.”

Kylo made a humming sound. “Interesting choice.”

Cocking an eyebrow, her eyes flitted back to him. “Interesting choice for what?”

Shifting to sit up and lean towards her, eyes intently fixed on hers, Kylo replied, “You consciously accessed your magic for the first time; it takes a lot out of you since you really don’t know how much or how little energy you need to exert.” Seeing her furrowed brows, he added with a grin, “It’s like learning to drive. You stomp on the gas pedal and shoot off too fast without control.”

“Wait, wait,” Rey interrupted, shaking her head, attempting to clear it. “Did you say ‘magic?’”

Kylo recoiled as if slapped. He was silent before muttering, “Sorry. I keep forgetting you don’t know.” He smiled ruefully. “They really should have told you before now. I guess they were just trying to protect you.” Rey continued to stare, perplexed and unable to process Kylo’s meaning. Sighing, he continued, “I can’t explain now, there’s no time: you have to get off this train.”

 “What? Why?” Rey demanded, staring as Kylo boosted himself up, towering over her.

He glanced down at her briefly. “This is your version of the River of Time, which carries all Egyptian souls to judgment and the Duat. If you arrive at the destination, there’s no coming back. No return trip.” Rey’s eyebrows rose faintly, wondering if Kylo had just made a pun. Before she could ask, he was sliding the compartment door open, gesturing for her to follow. “Come on.”

Scrambling to her feet, she asked, “Wait, so I _am_ dead?”

“Of course not; I already told you that you aren’t. You’re only _somewhat_ dead,” he returned over his shoulder. He paused before asking, tone distinctly curious, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“A missile was about to hit the plane I was in,” Rey replied, distractedly as she glanced through the windows of the compartment next to hers. It was empty, no luggage or sign of humans.

Kylo whistled lowly. “No wonder you spent so much energy. You’re actually really lucky you didn’t die.”

Rey frowned at his back. “And why are _you_ here, exactly?”

Stopping at an emergency exit door, lifting the heavy bolt across it with a slight grunt, Kylo slid it open and a cool rush of night air flooded the narrow hall. Turning back to her, he replied, “That’s a question you’ll have to answer for yourself since you’re the one who called me.”

“I called you?” Rey repeated, faintly.

Tapping his temple with two fingers, Kylo returned, “Mentally and very persistently. Didn’t give me much a choice.” He paused, turning to stare out at the pitch-blackness. Suddenly, with a jolt, Rey realized the train wasn’t traveling through night, it was traveling through an endlessly black void. Her palms grew clammy and she clutched at her skirt. “When you wake up— _if_ you wake up—they’ll explain all of this to you,” Kylo offered before adding in an undertone, “ _Probably.”_

Scowling, she snapped, “That doesn’t help.”

Grinning widely—a boyish expression that made Rey wonder what Kylo was like as a child—he said, “Sorry. Now, when I say ‘jump,’ you’re going to jump, alright?”

“ _What_ —?” Rey squawked but then an arm was around her waist and she was going tossed out of the opened door. For one, breathless moment, she felt as though she were flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes:  
> -The real Klemm KI 36s could only seat four so I stretched the truth a little just so the whole crew can join in on all the fun to come in Alexandria.  
> -The final scene turned into a homage to the King's Cross station scene with Dumbledore in "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows;" I'm not really sure how it happened but I appreciate it!


	8. Chapter IIX

It was a soft awakening, the sunlight dusting over her cheeks and teasing at her eyelashes, gently urging them to flutter open. Silence, mediated by muffled sounds of a city and—far closer—birds whistling, met her ears and for one fleeting, heart-pounding moment, she was sure she was back in Rabat, in the hotel room. This thought slammed her eyelids open but it wasn’t the blank, plaster ceiling—fissured with tiny cracks—that met her eyes but instead a silver tin ceiling, wicker fan lazily spinning at its center.

Someone drew in a soft gasp and then breathed: “You’re awake.” The voice was most certainly not Kylo Ren.

Struggling to sit up slightly, Rey turned her gaze downward and found herself in a large bed, Finn and Mister Dameron arranged in chairs at her side. The bedroom itself was unmistakable: she would remember it with vivid clarity for the rest of her life. She was in Lando Calrissian’s mansion, in the bedroom where an assassin awaited her. It was only now, nearly a year and a half later, she began to suspect who was behind the attack.

 _At least,_ she thought, grimly, _Lando hasn’t lost his sense humor._ Perhaps later, when her head wasn’t pounding and her world wasn’t disoriented, as if she were thrown, she would find the comedy in it.

Registering Finn and Mister Dameron’s concerned faces, she tried for a reassuring grin. “Hello,” she offered. “What happened?”

“Well,” Mister Dameron began, distinctly awkward. “We were flying over the Italy-occupied Libya and they…shot at us.”

“And you did something, Rey; you saved us,” Finn interjected, leaning forward to squeeze one of her hands warmly.

She tried shaking her head but found it only made her world spin. She stopped. Still, she protested, “I’m sure I didn’t really do anything. It was all luck.” Yet, even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. No aspect of the last twenty-four hours—the missile miraculously deflecting, the dream with Kylo—was ‘nothing’ nor was it luck.

As if borne on a faint breeze, a voice reiterated Kylo’s word, that word almost too dirty to utter aloud: _Magic._ Rey stoutly ignored the voice; it was the same one as before and she wasn’t willing to deal with it at the moment.

Finn looked unconvinced while Mister Dameron fixed her with a highly amused grin, as if he knew the truth. Rey resisted the urge to glare at him; she wasn’t truly annoyed with Dameron, simply that it seemed like everyone _knew exactly_ what was happening and were purposefully obscuring the truth from her. Kylo had said as much in the dream though he had offered no explanation either.

Rising from his armchair, Dameron said, “I’m going to tell the others your awake.” Finn nodded and Mister Dameron strode smoothly to the door leading to the hall. Pausing, hand on the knob, he through over his shoulder: “Make sure she drinks that water and takes her pills.”

With that, the door squeaked and shut behind him, leaving Finn to offer two white medicine capsules and a tall glass of water to Rey from her bedside table. Accepting both willingly—greedily chasing down the pills with urgent mouthfuls of water—Rey set aside the glass once it was empty. Finn watched her, trepidation clear. “Rey,” he began, after a moment, “Do you…do you have any idea what’s going on?”

She made a business of adjusting her empty glass on the bedside table until she could not avoid his inquiring, hard eyes any longer. Sighing, she turned her eyes to him. Hesitantly, she admitted, “I have an idea…a _crazy_ idea that can’t possibly be true, logically, but it’s the only thing that really makes sense to me. I mean, if the Scales are real than why can’t…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t say the word aloud, instinctually knowing that if she did, nothing would ever be the same. Trying again, she repeated weakly, “Than why can’t…”

Giving up entirely, she shook her head, sinking back against the pillows.

“Why can’t what be?” Finn prompted but, when it became clear Rey wouldn’t continue the thought, he changed strategies, asking, “So, do you believe the Scales are real?”

“We can only hope,” Rey muttered. “Otherwise, what was the purpose in all this senseless running around?”

Finn didn’t have a response to that and he was mercifully spared from searching around for one when the main door squeaked open, admitting much of the expedition crewmembers. Leading the way in, striding determinedly, was Professor Solo, face lined with concern. Following closely on his heels was Ambassador Organa and a man Rey could only assume to be the Ambassador’s brother, the resemblance was so strong. Looming over all of them was Chewbacca.

The four clustered around Rey’s bedside, Professor Solo occupying Mister Dameron’s empty chair and patting Rey’s hand. “Hey, kid,” he greeted, usual gruffness softened. “Good to see you back amongst the living.”

Rey didn’t truly realize she said it until the words were out of her mouth when she blurted, “It’s good to be back. I was nearly made it to the Duat.”

A shocked silence followed and Rey desperately wished she could catch her words in the air and stuff them back down her throat. Blushing furiously under everyone’s eyes—suddenly boring into her—Rey’s mind scrambled for words but came up blank. She hadn’t truly gotten the chance to consider if revealing her peculiar dream was wise—the train, nearly dying, _Kylo_ —but now that she had, Rey knew it was grave mistake. How was she going to avoid explaining she dreamed about a Nazi officer, their greatest enemy beside Colonel Hux, himself?

The Ambassador’s brother broke the silence, his tone intrigued, “Did you say you nearly made it to the Duat? Where you in the River of Time?”

Rey, eyes fixed on her crisp linen sheets, muttered, “It was more like a train than river.”

“But you managed to get off,” the man continued, only nodding in acknowledgment to Rey’s comment. “How did you know to do it?”

Even without looking at him, Rey felt his eyes burrowing into her, demanding an answer he already knew. Finding her mouth dry, Rey could only stare down at her hands, twisting into a tangle over her stomach, and refused to raise her eyes. A sigh followed—one from the Ambassador—and she gently said, “Luke, don’t interrogate her. She only just woke up. Besides, we should be thanking her.” Now Rey glanced up, Ambassador Organa warming her with a smile. “That was an amazing thing you did: protecting our plane like that. I haven’t seen that kind of magic from anyone except my brother.” She clamped an affection hand on the man—Luke’s—shoulder.

Rey was unhearing, her blood turning to ice in her veins at _the_ word: magic. Her mind was reeling, spiraling, and never before had a simple word had such an effect on her. Terror, chilling and overpowering, seized her.

 _Breathe,_ a different voice than before muttered. Rey easily recognized it: Kylo. Instead of starting or yelping in surprise, a befitting reaction, she only did as commanded. _Excellent; make sure you remember to breathe. Now focus on what they’re saying._

As Rey’s thoughts were reeling, Finn had enough presence of mind to squawk out: “‘ _Magic?’_ You can’t be serious, can you?”

“Oh, she’s deadly serious,” Professor Solo intoned then, eyes flitting from Finn than the Ambassador before returning to Rey.

“Wait, then why were you so skeptical about the Scales?” Finn blurted. Immediately, he ducked his head in embarrassment.

Chuckling, the Ambassador replied, “There’s a difference between magic from the gods and an object that is magical unto itself.”

Finn muttered lowly: “Oh yeah, big difference.”

Fortunately, no one seemed to hear him. Rey, eyes locked on the Ambassador’s, questioned, “So, what I did really was… _magic_?” She forced herself to spit out the word, to not fear its implications, all the while carefully regulating her breath. In, out; in, out.

 _Very good,_ Kylo’s voice in her mind echoed, tone edged with amusement. She ignored him.

The Ambassador sighed, glancing at Luke. “You should be the one telling her all of this.” Luke, mouth set into a hard line, nodded; the look in his eyes were peculiar and Rey couldn’t understand it. “Let’s leave them to talk. Lando probably needs help downstairs,” the Ambassador suggested in a tone that allowed for no argument, shepherding Finn and then Chewbacca from the room.

Before turning for the door, Chewbacca leaned over, planting a paternal kiss on Rey’s forehead, saying, “I’m happy to see you’re alright.”

“Thank you, Chewie,” Rey returned softly, mirroring his smile. With a nod, Chewbacca followed Finn, leaving only the Professor and Ambassador to make their exit.

Rey watched—brow quirked—as a brief look was exchanged between Professor Solo and Ambassador Organa. Lando had said they were old friends but, with the pain, remorse, and perhaps even love shared between them in that singular glance, Rey knew the two had to be more than just friends.

Before she could speculate further, the door was shut behind them and Luke was dropping himself into an armchair with a heavy sigh. Glancing around the room, his eyes alighted on a water pitcher on the dresser. With a wave of his hand, the pitcher picked itself up on its own accord, floating gently over to him. Grasping it by the handle, Luke refilled Rey’s water glass before offering it to her. “Drink; you need to be hydrated after a stint in the River…or train,” he ordered, not unkindly at Rey’s hesitation.

Nodding, Rey’s fingers clutched at the glass and she took a tentative sip. It still tasted like water.

She watched as Luke set aside the pitcher on the bedside table, tugged briefly at his neatly trimmed steal gray beard, and began with a sigh: “I’m sorry everything has happened to you the way it has. Nothing was supposed to be like this.” He paused and, seeming unsatisfied, began again, “I’m Luke Skywalker; your grandfather, Ben, was my teacher and I was raised alongside your father, Jinn. Your grandfather and your parents were great people, they never would have wanted any of this to happen to you.”

He paused again, looking to Rey expectantly for a reply. Rey, having completely forgotten her water—holding it loosely in her hands—only blinked back so Luke continued: “I suppose there’s no easy way to explain this so I’ll just say it: your family, for generations, has served the different gods of Egypt as magicians. Your grandfather served Geb, your father Isis, and your mother Osiris. It’s in your blood to be a magician and I believe that Horus has chosen you to fight for him.” Luke paused, frowning, voice low, “And I do mean _fight._ You see, it’s your duty to continue the cycle of fighting against Set.”

Now, when Luke paused, poised for a reply from Rey, she offered one: “You mean like the myth?” She supposed it explained her love for Egyptology.

“Exactly,” Luke nodded. “I am the current magician of Ra so my powers are similar to Horus’; I defeated Darth Vader—the previous magician of Set—two years after your parents dueled him in London.” Luke’s eyes shifted away from Rey’s questioning gaze, staring down at his hands intently. “Your parents knew him before…before he went Dark. Unlike the other gods, no one is born a magician of Set. Vader was once a man named Anakin Skywalker and…and he was my father. He served Amun loyally until Set tempted him and killed Anakin, Darth Vader rising from his ashes. It was my life mission to defeat him to maintain order.”

Rey’s mouth worked at a reply, desperately searching for a sufficient response to this revelation. A way of expressing her empathy, of voicing her confusion, but then she was overcome with two sinking, inexcusable emotions: dread of hearing the truth and realization of its implications. Surprisingly, she wasn’t flooded with panic at the thought of gods and magic being real but rather her part in all of it; a part she was slowly beginning to comprehend. “Is…is Kylo Ren the next magician of Set?”

Luke winced at the name but nodded nonetheless. “Yes. He was once a magician of Amun, like my father was. But then, Vader and Set swayed him from the Light side and he forsook his duties. When a magician goes rogue and becomes a servant of Set, they must cast aside their birth name and choose a name no mortal has ever had before.”

“Hence the strange names,” Rey quipped, trying for a smile but it was a small, shriveled thing.

Luke was kind enough to chuckle. He nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “But, strange names aside, it is the goal of every magician of Set to destroy the servants of the other gods; its all apart of Set’s plan to become king of the gods and eliminate any that may oppose him.”

“But, in the myths, isn’t it only Horus—or Ra, I suppose—who can defeat Set?” questioned Rey, knowing the answer and fearing it, but needing to hear it verbalized.

“Yes, of course,” Luke replied, inclining his head. Rey’s heart sank; now was not the time to contemplate her swirling emotions regarding Kylo Ren but she couldn’t deny her alarm at hearing she was destined to destroy him—or vice versa. “But the other gods have the ability to tip the balance away from chaos and the Dark side of Set and towards peace and prosperity. That was why your parents put you into hiding; Jinn and Aayla knew Vader would come for them, as magicians to two of the most powerful gods, and they didn’t want him finding you when he inevitably hunted them down.”

She stared down at her hands, trying to sort through her reaction. After all these years of wondering why her parents had abandoned her—why they didn’t _care_ —it was all for her safety: because they cared for her most of all. Then another thought flittered through her mind: how hadn’t Vader found her during her childhood? If it was his duty to eliminate the magicians of Horus—which she was—then why hadn’t he hunted her down like her parents? And why hadn’t Kylo killed her when he had the chance?

 _Now you’re asking the right questions,_ Kylo’s voice whispered, ghosting over her ears and she frowned.

Ignoring him for the time being, she asked Luke, “Why didn’t Vader come for me when I was little?”

“Because you’re an incarnation younger than him,” Luke answered, tugging at his beard again. “Everything must follow in a circular way. I’m the only one who could defeat Vader because we’re in the same ‘generation’ of magicians. Meaning, if Kylo Ren were to come for me, I’d be powerless because only the current magician of Ra or Horus can defeat the current magician of Set.”

Rey nodded slowly; that didn’t answer her speculations on Kylo, only adding confusion. If it truly was Kylo’s mission to defeat Rey, he could have sprung on her in the Luxor bazaar, when she was entirely unaware of her powers. Yet, he had assured her his intentions were never malicious but rather amorous. Rey couldn’t restrain the blush at the thought. Clearing her throat, she asked another question niggling at her mind: “The Scales are real, aren’t they? And Kylo’s trying to get his hands on them to defeat the other gods once and for all, right?”

“I fear so; when Kylo joined the Reichsbund it could only be to further Set’s plans. When I heard Professor Hux joined too…” Luke’s voice trailed off and he shook his head. “Henry Hux is a genius, there’s no doubting that. He was professor of archeology at Oxford and the youngest person to ever be appointed to the Disney Chair—he got it over Han, actually. I had no idea he had such malicious political ties.” Luke paused, his eyes turning towards the wide windows, peering over the front lawn of Lando’s mansion. Lowly, as if forgetting she was there, he added: “I really should’ve known though; Hux always had a special interest in Set.”

Rey studied Luke’s expression carefully, registering the deep sadness in his eyes and the haze of memory clouding his sight.

A thought occurred to her then. “If you knew my grandfather—and I’m assuming the Ambassador did too—did Professor Solo know him?”

“Yes, of course. Ben was a friend of the Skywalker family until his death two years ago. Of course, like the rest of us magicians, he went into hiding, fearing Vader and Kylo would find him,” Luke replied, drawn back to the present.

Rey’s lips tightened and her face paled. “So…so does that mean…did Professor Solo take me on as an assistance as a favor to my grandfather?”

Luke swallowed and nodded hesitantly. “It was his dying wish, Rey, we fear your grandfather was murdered by Kylo. But, Ben loved you very much and it pained him to not be able to see you. I think he hoped if Professor Solo were to take you on, you’d meet me, get the training you needed to wield your magic, and be able to defend yourself where he couldn’t.”

“So none of it was based on my own merit?” Rey demanded, brows furrowed and eyes boring into Luke.

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, he replied, “I wouldn’t say that. Han’s said you’re the most capable assistant he’s ever had. Chewie agreed.” There was an uncomfortable silence, Rey looking way and her jaw jumping as her teeth clamped tight. Into the tension, Luke offered, “Han and Chewie and all of us only want the best for you, Rey. You’ve got to know that.”

Gusting out a long sigh, willing her growing anger to be dispelled with it, Rey returned, “Yes; yes, of course. It’s just…” She allowed her voice to trail off, shaking her head. After a moment, she changed subjects, saying, “What about the Scales? Do you think they’re truly at the end of the Nile?”

“It’s the only logical location,” replied Luke, visibly relieved. “It seems unlikely the ancients would travel as far as Morocco to throw an artifact into the Strait. Besides, the Nile was their source of life and the inspiration for the River of Time. It’s logical the Scales would be at the end of the Nile and in modern day Alexandria.”

Rey decided against making the accusation that going to Morocco was all one large waste of time; one big distraction for, as Rey suspected, Kylo and Colonel Hux. Instead, she inquired, “How are we going to find the scales amongst centuries of sludge and trash?”

Luke grinned now. “You’ll see; it’ll be your first formal magic lesson if you’re willing to take me on as a teacher.”

Before Rey could answer, the voice—not Kylo’s, but the one what had been plaguing her since Luxor—urged, _Accept, you need his guidance._

Brows furrowing marginally, Rey thought back: _Horus? Is that you?_ There was no response though Rey had the distinct impression the voice was highly amused.

Deciding to contemplate further on the voice’s possible identity as Horus later, Rey nodded, saying, “Yes, of course. If you can teach me how to not almost kill myself every time I use my…magic, that’d be great.” Luke barked out a laugh and Rey couldn’t help but grinning in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the heavy amount of dialogue in this chapter; I was going to have this scene at the end of the previous chapter but I decided it was way too important to just tack on. Anyway, now Rey knows the truth--but is all really as it seems?


	9. Chapter IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help myself from posting twice in one day; we're so close to the end and I'm terribly excited! Maybe count this as an early Valentine's Day present? Anyway, please enjoy!

_January 21, 1934: London, England_

Kylo was ferried upriver from Southend-on-Sea, the _Finalizer_ docked in the shipyards and Hux impatiently awaiting Kylo’s return; waiting for him to get this whole nasty business of murdering a thirteen-year-old girl—a girl who was the only one alive who could defeat Kylo but with no magical training of her own. Kylo’s stomach churned at the thought and he forced himself not to linger on it, instead turning his attention to the squat, brown brick buildings of London lining the wharves.

The clattering of daily life—the indistinct mutterings of humans laughing, shouting intermingling with the blare of horns, the rumble of engines—swam into Kylo’s ears but he ignored it in favor of watching the ferry draw ever closer to its dock. He paid no mind to the other passengers, curiously blinking at him and wondering at a fifteen-year-old traveling alone, and was the first person off when the boat finally moored alongside the wharf. They had landed at Westminster Pier, Big Ben looming above and keeping doleful watch on the Londoners and tourists alike as they swirled below, as inconsequential as ants to the great clock tower. Kylo, pausing to stare up at the ticking hands for a moment, took a small measure of comfort in this.

It was a relief, the pressure marginally alleviated from his shoulders, that there was something bigger—something more important—than him, than proving himself to Set and Darth Vader.

Tugging at his wool coat, hugging it tighter around his torso though it did little to shield his frame from the biting wind, Kylo strode off along the Queen’s Walk, making a quick right into Westminster Station. His mind chanted the instructions Hux drilled into him _: Westminster to Earl’s Court, Earl’s Court to Paddington._ Hux insisted in his usual condescending sneer that only infants couldn’t navigate the London underground and—despite everything—he thought Kylo at least more intelligent than a one-year-old child.

Kylo wasn’t assured.

Turning into the dimly lit Tube station, Kylo paused at the ticket counter, carefully picking out the correct amount of change to the ticket taker—he was hyper aware of the people beginning to queue behind him, adding to his nerves with the foreign currency—and he had to monitor himself closely from dashing to the turn style. Finally, he descended into the darkness of the Underground, the lights reflecting oddly off the emerald tiles and making Kylo’s head throb with pain, swimming with dizziness. Reaching a shaky hand, he swallowed deep breaths, trying to keep down the agony beginning to blossom behind his eyes, the pain stabbing his stomach.

Unaware of the morning commuters rushing by, bumping into him heedlessly and the occasional glares shot in his direction, Kylo sagged against the tiles, overcome with the waves of emotion. He had enough presence of mind to know—with complete certainty—that this was something far more, _something far worse_ , than the fluorescent lights reflecting off the tiles. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he stifled a sob; this grief was not his own. He was sure his world was crumbling, his heart ripped from his chest, and he was left entirely hollow.

He clutched at his stomach though it did little to sooth the overwhelming urge to wretch. The pounding in his head only grew and finally tears burst from his eyes; his mistake was allowing one to fall, splotching onto his cheeks before rolling and staining his coat, and the rest followed in a heavy flood. He was empty but then heavy with a crushing weight all at once.

Just before he collapsed, the grief too painful to bear, he realized: _this must be her pain and grief for her parents._

Later, when he came to, he would wonder how he had known—how he had thought it and knew it to be entirely true—but then his head cracked against the cement floor and blackness overcame him.

#

When next Kylo was conscious, he found the face of nurse—the smiling woman marked by her neat uniform and white cap—hovering mere inches above his nose. He blinked rapidly at her in surprise. “Hello, darling,” she greeted, her accent not unlike Hux’s though much friendlier. “Good to see you’re awake. You’ve got quite a nasty bump on your head.”

She leaned away from him, pocketing a small flashlight that Kylo realized she must have been using to check his pupils’ dilation before he woke, and Kylo scooted himself upright. Rubbing a hand to his temple, he asked, haltingly, “Where am I?”

The nurse raised a faint brow. “An American, my, my,” she muttered, scribbling on a clipboard at Kylo’s bedside before answering his question. “You’re at Saint Thomas’ Hospital, in Lambeth, London.”

Kylo blinked rapidly at the word ‘hospital;’ glancing around briefly, he found a clock on the bedside table. It read half past four. He had been unconscious for nearly eight hours; he must have really hit his head hard. This stirred the memory of the overwhelming emotions—of _her_ overwhelming emotions—and he frowned, wondering why he had felt them. Misinterpreting his expression, the nurse offered, “Some kind people found you in the Westminster Tube station. They called an ambulance and it brought you here; we were uncertain of what caused you to faint and just wanted to be entirely safe.”

Nodding, Kylo replied, “Thank you.” The medical staff may be uncertain as to his condition but Kylo, to his growing astonishment, had never been so sure of anything in his life.

“Of course. You try to rest for a little while and I’ll be back to check your vitals,” the nurse replied, casting him with a smile before turning and departing from his room at a fast clip. He watched her go for a moment before his eyes turned to his clothing, neatly arranged on a chair near his bed. Casting aside the blanket carefully tucked over his legs, Kylo hurried to dress. He had to find her, find _Rey,_ as soon as possible.

#

His train to the village of Jakku was delayed due to an unexpectedly sudden snowstorm and dusk was beginning to fall when Kylo’s train finally pulled into the tiny station. It was entirely dark as he followed the long, winding country road toward Niima Academy. With every step he took, careful to avoid patches of ice and skirt around the larger snowdrifts, he could sense her presence more and more until it was overwhelming, heady, and intoxicating. Though threaded with a raging, wild grief—one Kylo had to consciously shut out of his mind for fear of allowing it to overpower him again—there was a distinct warmth to Rey’s presence, the undeniable draw of Lightness.

Kylo should have been revolted, enraged, ready to turn murderous at such power that stood in direct opposition to Vader and their master, Set. Yet, all he could feel was an inexplicable sense of _rightness._

Frowning, Kylo trudged up to the large, bricked manor that served as the boarding school and paused at the door. He focused intently on his need to go unnoticed and he felt the familiar pull at his energy, at his mind, the magic taking hold and cloaking him. Staring at the heavy brass knob of the main door, he took a deep, stealing breath; the girl inside would change his life irreversibly. The thought spun through his head, weakening his knees.

Not allowing for another moment of hesitation, Kylo pushed his way into the manor house, surprised to find the door unlocked, and padded silently into the main hall. He allowed his sense of her to be his guide through the house; on silent feet, unnoticed by the inhabitants of the Academy, he stole up the main staircase and along a long corridor, the air becoming colder and more frigid as he traveled away from the centralized warmth of the manor. Finally he stopped short at a door, much like the rest lining the corridor, and pressed a hand against the cold, smooth wood. She was most certainly on the other side; he could feel her Light washing over him in crashing waves and it cut his breath short. Twisting the nod to the door and pushing gently, careful to keep the hinges from squeaking, Kylo peered into the darkened room—a tiny bedroom—and his eyes immediately alighted on the sleeping face of a young girl.

Her cheeks were stained with tear tracks, her sleep restless and her blankets tangled around her legs. Unconsciously, he smiled sadly, emitting soothing magic and soon her ragged breath evened. Staring at her—Rey Kenobi, thirteen-years-old but appearing as innocent and vulnerable as a babe—some far-off part of Kylo’s mind whispered at him that now was his moment to strike, to take her life when she was defenseless. Yet, as she turned in her sleep, at peace, he felt her tranquility settling over him and he knew he could never hurt her.

He also knew he would have to lie to Hux and Vader; tell them he finished her off mercilessly as befitting a magician of Set.

 

_November 3, 1940: Alexandria, Egypt_

Rey managed to fall asleep sometime after Luke left, assuring him she would be more than capable of rising early the next day to investigate the harbor for the Scales. When next she awoke, the light outside was rapidly fading and Finn was at her side, tray laden with aish merahrah and a heavy bowl of thick chicken stew in his lap. The pungent smell, rich and mouthwatering, washed over Rey’s senses in an instant. She reached for the tray wordlessly.

Chuckling, Finn obligingly handed it to her, helping arrange it in her lap. “I suppose you’re hungry.”

“Ravenous,” Rey agreed, picking up the heavy clay spoon and beginning to ladle the chicken stew into her mouth.

Finn watched her, amused. “Don’t hurt yourself,” he warned.

Rey shrugged, swallowing her mouthful before reaching for the water glass. When her mouth was empty, she began, “I had a really strange dream.”

“Strange?” Finn repeated. “How so?”

She paused, tearing off a piece of aish merahrah, before shrugging again. “It was almost like a memory. I think it was around the time I was thirteen when…when my parents died. There was a boy who watched over me, who calmed me and helped me sort through the grief. I can’t really remember his face but I do know he was a…kind presence.”

Finn was quiet for a moment, heavy brows drawn over his eyes. Hesitantly, he asked, “Rey…Rey, were you…” He paused, biting his lip before finally spitting out: “ _Molested_ when you were little?”

“ _What_? No!” Rey spluttered, face flaming red and shaking her head vigorously. “No, nothing like that! The boy in the dream was like an angel…or maybe a Hunmanit.” She blushed violently at her words, realizing a moment after the words were from her mouth how childish she sounded.

Silence descended, Finn watching her carefully. Rey, ducking her head, turned her attention solely to eating her stew and mopping up the broth with the flat bread. “Well, do you think the dream and the…angel…have something to do with being a magician of Horus?”

Head jolting up, Rey stared at him. “You know?”

“Yeah, Han and Chewie told me,” Finn replied, shaking his head disbelievingly. “It took me a long time for them to convince me.”

Rey couldn’t help but grinning at his tone. “Pretty hard to believe, huh?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, returning her smile. Without needing to be verbalized, an understanding settled between them and Rey wondered when Finn had become her best friend.

 

_November 4, 1940: Alexandria, Egypt_

The expedition crew—plus the Ambassador and Mister Dameron—filed out of Lando’s mansion and into the early morning chill, none daring to break the perfect silence settled over all of them. There were two motorcars stalling in the street, awaiting, and Rey slid into the first with Luke, Chewie, and Professor Solo. With a jolt, the world outside the window began moving and Rey watched it slid by passively.

Weariness, exhaustion still clinging to her, made her eyelids heavy and she desperately wanted to return to her warm bed but knew they were running out of time. The longer they hesitated, the longer they kept away from the wharves of the Alexandria, the greater chance Colonel Hux and Kylo would find the Scales and tip the world into chaos. The thought settled over her, waking her more than cold water ever could, and her mind snapped to attention.

Glancing over to the other occupants of the motorcar, she caught Chewie’s eye and he offered her a brave smile. She returned it as best she could. It was an odd feeling; last time she was in a car, being driven through the streets of Alexandria, Chewbacca and Professor Solo were whispering about the Scales—about whether to trust her and Lando with the knowledge of them. Now, her speculations seemed trivial in comparison to the truth—a truth she had internalized, as if she always had known it—Luke had told her the previous afternoon.

Rey wondered if this was how the reminder of her life would be, with memories divided into before she knew about her magic and after. Gulping down hard over the lump in her throat, she returned her eyes to the window.

Too soon, the car pulled to a stop along a long stretch of white, flagstone wharf. A webbing of wooden docks and piers jutted into the deep azure waters of the Mediterranean and, the distance, the golden sands of the tourist beaches stretched out. The modern lighthouse rose on the horizon, a distant and silent spectator—light extinguished for the morning—on the events about to unfold.

Continuing their wordless journey, the four slid out—the second motorcar arriving not far behind—and Luke led the way to the edge of the stone wharf, gesturing for Rey to follow and stand by his side. For the first time that morning, the silence was broken as Luke said, “Take my hand, Rey. Close your eyes, open your other senses to the world around you, and focus.”

Glancing down at his offered hand, Rey nodded, taking it and finding Luke’s hand calloused and rough, like hers. She wondered briefly if he had ever worked on a dig site. Not allowing herself to ruminate on the thought, she shunted it aside and did as instructed. Closing her eyes, she breathed in lungful after lungful of sea air, rushing off the waves and cleansing her. There was the far-off rumble of the city stirring, wakening for another day of business, the cries of gulls, the lapping of the water. She could feel the vibrations of motorcars underfoot, the gentle chill of the sea washing over her, the sleek scales of fish gliding past her skin. She was the ibis, returning to her nest to feed her fledglings; she was the jackal, shunting through back alleys and evading the smelly two-legged; she was the crab, scuttling to join the retreating tide.

 Rey gasped involuntarily.

When Luke spoke, she could hear the smile in his words. “You feel it, don’t you?”

Rey nodded though Luke couldn’t see though she knew he understood. After a moment, she said in a quiet, reverent toned: “I feel Egypt.”

“And it feels you,” Luke returned. As soon as he spoke it, Rey knew it to be undeniably true. The animals, the people, the land itself seemed to be awakening, turning to stare at her. She didn’t know whether to tremble with fear or be exhilarated with the heady power coursing through her. After a pause, Luke instructed, “Turn your attention to the harbor’s bottom; focus on your need to find the Scales.”

Though loathed to turn her attention away from her immediate surroundings, Rey peered beneath the waves, mind sharpening on her desperate need to find the Scales and prevent the apocalypse. Beside her, she sensed Luke doing much the same. In her mind’s eye sprung a murky, dim vision of the harbor floor. The light was filtered with gallons of water, fish darting through her view, and occasional clouds of dirt being stirred by the movements of a bottom-feeders but—besides that—it was empty. Rey frowned.

“I…I don’t…” Rey muttered but before she could continue, before she could put words to her feelings, there was a strangled gasp from behind them.

“ _Luke! Rey!”_ cried out Ambassador Organa, breaking Rey’s concentration.

Turning hurriedly over her shoulder—Luke dropping her hand and doing much the same at her side—the two found their fellow expedition members restrained by Nazi soldiers, armbands blood red in the morning sun, and Colonel Hux standing at the fore. Rey’s mouth popped open, paling at the sight; all her friends had their arms pinned behind their backs and a hand clamped over their mouths.

“Henry,” Luke greeted, icy and polite.

“Hello, Skywalker,” replied the Colonel, thin lips curled into a smirk.

Rey ignored her brief speculation of where Kylo Ren was, why he wasn’t accompanying his commander. Instead, she focused on glaring intensely at the Colonel, wondering if she could will him to combust.

“Have you found the Scales yet?” the Colonel asked without pause. To Rey’s disappointment, he showed no signs of being on fire though his red hair was flaming in the early sunlight.

“Why don’t look for yourself?” returned Luke.

Silence descended between them, the quietness fissured with a crackling tension, the wind whipping around them and chilling them to the core. Rey refused to tug her sweater tighter around her shoulders. A laugh tickled at her ears and the mysterious voice whispered at her mind, _Childish, aren’t they? Always squabbling between Light and Dark._

Rey frowned marginally, thinking back: _Isn’t that all that’s worth ‘squabbling’ over?_

The voice now was edged with annoyance. _There must always be a balance._ Heat flooded Rey’s mind, the beginning of a headache forming. Not allowing her composure to break, Rey’s cheek muscles twitched at the pain and her eyes watered slightly. When next the voice spoke, it was apologetic. _Pardon me; I forget mortals are fragile._

Rey paused, her thoughts indecipherable for a moment before she managed to coherently string together, tentatively: _Are…are you the deity known as Horus?_

An impression of amusement, just as before, washed over Rey. The voice answered, _That’s not your primary concern at the moment, my little magician._

“Then what is?” Rey muttered aloud, forgetting herself in her annoyance. To her astonishment, no one acknowledged her verbalization; Hux, Luke, her other friends, and the soldiers’ expressions remained immobile. She blinked in shock.

 _I stopped time; it’s a neat trick,_ the voice answered her unarticulated—both verbally and mentally—question.

“No joking,” Rey replied, blinking around.

  _Focus, Rey,_ the voice urged. _You need to leave this place and return to Luxor. Return to the temple and there you will find the Scales._

“But…but…” Rey sputtered, a thousand questions vying to be blurted at once. Finally she settled on the most sensible: “But how will I get there?”

An image of Kylo Ren, dressed in a starched Nazi uniform and hunched over a large stack of papers, flashed through her mind before being swiftly replaced with the docks along the Nile, where sailboats were moored and waiting to be rented. _Call to him and have him meet you. You cannot find the Scales without him._

“How am I supposed to call him?” Rey asked, voice faint at the plan.

 _I am not the only who has a connection to your thoughts; he could sense your feelings before, but after you called him into the River with you, you opened a mental link between yourselves,_ the voice explained, patient. Rey only nodded vaguely, wanting to demand further explanation but the voice continued: _I’m going to restart time. You must be ready to run, Rey._

“Yes, yes, of course,” Rey agreed, breath coming short but tone as confident as she could muster. Amusement and affection washed over her and Rey added, just as Hux lunged toward Luke, “Thank you, Ma’at.”

Not lingering to watch as Luke easily deflected the Colonel’s attack or the sudden struggle her friends put up against their captors, Rey ran for the building line and the alley running between a bank and beach boutique, the route to the sailboats instinctually planted in her memory. As she rounded into the alleyway, vaulting over upturned garbage bins and crates, she called out: _Kylo, I need you to meet me._

His reply was immediate and simple: _Where?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my fic (posted before we discovered Hux's first name is Armitage), Hux's name is Henry, middle name Armitage!


	10. Chapter X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 100% the reason for all the warnings on this fic so, please, be warned! Also, please enjoy!

_November 4, 1940: Nile River, Egypt_

Neither Rey nor Kylo dared to speak beyond calling to each as they got the sailboat underway until they were passing Basioun at midmorning. When Rey came hurtling onto the docks, she found Kylo waiting for her at the rental shop—his uniform exchanged for civilian clothing and he was negotiating with the merchant in fluent Arabic—and she could have kissed him. He didn’t ask any questions as they untied the mooring ropes and unfurled the sails, the wind miraculously on their side.

Even as Basioun slid lazily by, none of the fishmongers and sailors along the embankments sparing more than a glance at another pair of European tourists, Rey only explained the purpose of their journey before jokingly apologizing for taking him away from his ‘pressing’ work. He only grinned, saying nothing was as pressing as helping her. Rey blushed, ducking her head to hide her pinking cheeks, and turned her attention back to carefully managing the boat’s rudder, ensuring for the fifth time in as many minutes that it was secure.

The two settled into a comfortable, easy companionship for the remainder of the day’s journey. Rey knew she had to be the one to break the silence; knew Kylo was waiting for her to start the necessary conversation but she couldn’t decide on which question she wanted— _needed—_ answered first. In her confusion, she remained silent, and this only seemed to make Kylo steadily more amused as he stole grins at her throughout the afternoon. It was when they moored at Al Qababt for the evening, the river too dangerous to navigate at night, that Rey finally found her voice.

Watching Kylo grill the catfish he had traded for with fellow river travellers in the cramped kitchenette in the sailboat’s cabin, Rey arranged in the compact breakfast nook, she blurted out: “Why didn’t you kill me?”

Kylo glanced up briefly, smile open despite her tone. “Which time?”

Rey’s brows furrowed, disliking his light attitude toward her death, and she clarified, “When I was thirteen, at Niima.”

Carefully returning his attention to the fish, prodding them with the wooden spoon he had salvaged from a door, Kylo asked in return, “How did you know?”

All light-heartedness had evaporated from his tone and Rey found herself leaning forward, subconsciously attempting to draw closer to him. Chiding herself mentally and adjusting her posture, she decided to answer with blunt honesty: “I had a dream last night, though it was more of a memory. It was from when my parents died and, well, there was boy who watched over me.” She paused now, studying what little she could see of his expression intently. “It _was_ you, wasn’t it?”

It took a long time for Kylo to reply, making a business of inspecting the tenderness of the fish meat before carefully transferring the fish onto two separate plates. “I thought you were asleep then,” Kylo finally admitted, switching off the stove and adding Rey’s diced and sautéed sweet potatoes to the plates.

As he moved to slide into the breakfast nook’s curved, cramped bench, Rey accepting the offered plate, she persisted, “So why didn’t you do it? Kill me, I mean.”

“I…I…” Kylo began, casting around for the words to properly articulate himself. After a moment, he sighed, admitting lowly, “I couldn’t. They… _Luke_ has probably told you that I’m a magician of Set and it’s my duty to kill you, a magician of Horus, right?” Rey nodded, too intrigued with his explanation to interrupt and correct him that it was Ma’at she served. “Well, after Darth Vader, my teacher, defeated your parents, I was sent to finish you off. But, on my way, I felt your agony and grief. It…it was unlike anything I had ever felt before. Such raw, _human_ emotions that I hadn’t allowed myself to even come _near_ since I ran away from…since I became Vader’s apprentice.

“I went to Niima and saw you visibly upset, even in your sleep. I used my magic to calm you.” Kylo paused now, finally daring to meet Rey’s eyes and finding them far softer than he expected. “I suppose my magic could have left an impression of me on you.”

“I suppose,” Rey agreed, turning her attention to her fish and beginning to mindfully pick the meat from the fragile, thin bones. Kylo lapsed into silence at her side—so close to her at the tiny table, their elbows a breath away, and heat radiating off their skin—concentrating on his food as well. Rey was surprised by the buttery, tenderness of the meat and she briefly wondered where Kylo learned to cook. Instead of inquiring, she decided to broach another altogether. “Do you know something else Luke told me?”

Arching an eyebrow, Kylo prompted, “What?”

“He said you killed my grandfather,” Rey replied, tone indecipherable. In truth, news of her grandfather’s death—a grandfather she hadn’t known she had—was yet more grief weighing heavily on her already numb heart.

To Rey’s fascination, Kylo’s expression was truly shocked and she was sure he couldn’t be pretending. Eyebrows jumping, eyes widening, and mouth falling open, Kylo demanded, “Old Ben’s dead? When? How?”

"Two years ago; they said you killed him,” Rey replied, voice softening and holding no accusation. His reaction was enough confirmation to her that he was not responsible for Ben Kenobi’s death; though she didn’t put lying past Kylo in any way, his reaction was too genuine to be faked so spontaneously.

“No, no, I was in Berlin two years ago and last I heard old Ben was in Connecticut,” replied Kylo. A pause, realization dawning across his expression, and he asked, “Did Luke say where Ben was when he died?”

“He didn’t mention it,” Rey answered, slightly ashamed in herself though she knew she had no reason _to_ be. She had every cause—he had _given_ her every cause—to not trust him, even after rescuing her in Rabat and their brief, spontaneous kiss, but still guilt washed over her for accusing rashly. Ma’at urged her to Kylo for help and—though it was a thought Rey tried to avoid simply because it was so strange—she was Ma’at’s servant. Besides, the ancient, supposed-to-be mythological goddess had yet to lead her astray.

 _I would never purposefully deceive you,_ Ma’at’s voice spoke suddenly. Rey, far past being surprised at the goddess’ sudden appearance, only blinked slightly as assurance settled over her.

Voice soft, Kylo muttered, more to himself than her, “Hux was in New York around that time…it’s possible.” His volume, already low, completely faded into silence as he chewed thoughtfully at a mouthful of sweet potatoes. He turned his attention to the catfish.

Rey watched in silence, the two finishing their meals in silence. Multiple times—when she finished her fish, when she gulped down her water, when she started in on her sweet potatoes—she wanted to apologize for accusing him wildly. Her thoughts warred with themselves; she felt herself both in the right and in the wrong. He was a magician of Set, a Nazi bent on destroying artifacts to fit into the idealism of fanatical Aryans, and he wanted to find the Scales to bring about mass destruction.

 _But that doesn’t feel entirely_ true _, does it?_ Ma’at whispered into her mind and Rey couldn’t help agreeing.

There had to be reason Ma’at instructed her to call for him, a reason why Rey couldn’t locate the Scales without him. And, though she wouldn’t admit it, she was relieved he was at her side. It felt right; _he_ felt right.

Finally, Kylo finished his fish and, with a sigh, pushed away his plate. Running a quick hand through his thick, dark hair, he offered: “Rey, I’m sorry. If I had known what Hux was up to, I…honestly, I don’t know what I would’ve done but I’m sorry Ben’s dead. I knew him when I was younger and he was always good to me.” Rey wanted to ask how he knew her grandfather but then Kylo was continuing, “Honestly, I feel like I haven’t really known myself for the past few years. It started when I went to Niima and then when Luke defeated Vader two years ago…I was left… _unbalanced,_ I guess? Nothing really felt right but I stayed with Hux and followed him into the Reichsbund für Deutsche Vorgeschicht because I couldn’t stand the thought of going back and facing my parents after everything.”

Now Kylo dared to look at Rey and she took his hand, squeezing it gently. Encouraged, he added, voice still shaking but his eyes looking to her trustingly, “I never really heard Set like Vader said I would. It’s probably because I lied about…about killing you. I was always assured that he’d speak to me once I’d proved myself to the chaos and Darkness but…but I’ve only had these premonitions of someone looking after, a voice that will occasionally guide me. I can access magic still so I know some deity has claimed me as their magician.” He shrugged. “All of that to say: I can’t kill you because I’m not Set’s servant and don’t have the power to. Not that I’d want to ever hurt you… _ever_.”

Rey smiled now and they were incredibly close—closer than she realized until a moment before—leaning subconsciously towards the other, assured in each other’s presence, and she replied, “Well, I wouldn’t have the power to defeat you even if you _were_ a magician of Set. I’m Ma’at’s magician.”

Kylo blinked. “Ma’at,” he repeated, tone hollow with shock.

“At…at the harbor in Alexandria, she spoke to me. We were there looking for the Scales at the end of the River of Time and this voice spoke to me; a voice that’s been guiding me since discovering the secret chamber at the temple. And, and it just came to me in a sudden realization. Luke thinks I’m Horus’ magician but…” she shrugged, giving him a rueful grin. “I guess he’s wrong about both of us.”

Kylo stayed quiet for a long moment after, staring down at their clasped hands and running a thumb along her knuckles. “The goddess of balance,” he muttered, so low, Rey had to lean in yet further to distinguish his words. “Of course; of course, how could I not have known?” Unsure of how to respond, Rey remained silent, waiting for him to continue. “It’s all too fitting to be coincidence, isn’t it? You, the Scales, Ma’at. Of course it was divine intervention.”

He abruptly looked up at her and Rey had to reel back hurriedly, narrowly avoiding bumping noses with him awkwardly. Kylo blinked at her, expression unreadable, and, after a moment, Rey took a stealing breath. A theory about him, his true allegiance, had been forming in her mind as Kylo explained himself. If it were true, it would explain everything, his defiance of Set, their mental connection, but if she was _wrong—_ the implications terrified her, catching her voice in her throat.

Growing impatient with her hesitation to speak, Ma’at encouraged, _You know you’ve guessed correctly._

Restraining a small grin, Rey thought back, almost accusingly: _You helped along with the realization, didn’t you?_

Rey swore she heard the faint gust of laughter now. _Clever. I knew I chose well with you,_ Ma’at replied.

“Kylo…Kylo, you being here, in Egypt, looking for the Scales, with me, isn’t a coincidence either. I think…I think you might be Thoth’s magician.”

“Thoth,” Kylo repeated, voice breathy. “The mediator, son of Set, and…and…”

“Ma’at’s husband,” Rey supplied, voice matching his. They stared at each other for a long moment, breaths mingling in short, hot gusts, minds mirroring myriads of swirling confusion. Into the silence, Rey said, “That’s why you couldn’t hurt me because we simply can’t hurt each other. We’re the others half; it would be like stabbing ourselves.”

 _Very good,_ Ma’at approved. Rey ignored her, too intent on Kylo and the goddess smiled—oddly enough, Rey _felt_ her smile—before withdrawing from Rey’s mind.

Kylo nodded slowly, realization dawning across his face. He began slowly, working out the truth as he spoke: “Our strong emotions would echo through to each other but when you called me into the River, we finally mentally connected…and that day in the Luxor bazaar…I know I told you I only had amorous feelings but…but Rey, it was so much more. I _did_ recognize you after all that time but I also felt this need to protect you and…” He trailed off, his ears turning scarlet.

Not entirely in control of her own actions, Rey found herself placing a gentle hand against Kylo’s cheek. Her fingers brushed against his hard, defined cheekbones, his skin cool and reassuring under her hot touch. He leaned his cheek into her palm, savoring the physical touch. “And what?” she prompted, simultaneously terrified and desperate for the answer.

“And a need to love you,” Kylo admitted, tone hushed.

Neither were sure who closed the distance between them but Rey _did_ know it was Kylo who pulled her into his lap to better kiss her.

 

_Cairo, Egypt_

Han knew the others did it on purpose: all excusing themselves with one flimsy lie after another until it was only Leia and him on the benches in the Cairo train station, waiting for their connecting night train to Luxor.

Though it felt like a lifetime ago, the morning had descended into madness after Rey’s departure. After a short brawl and rather long chase, the members of their ragtag team regrouped back at Lando’s mansion. Professor Han wasn’t surprised to find Luke meditating when he arrived though he was surprised to hear the news bestowed upon Luke by Ra: Rey was travelling to Luxor, back to the temple of Ma’at, in the company of Kylo Ren. Without any need for consultation, the remaining expedition members—which now seemed to include Finn, Leia, and Dameron—scrambled to pack and catch the train to Cairo.

Whereupon, Han had the sneaky suspicion Chewbacca engineered a time for Leia and to be alone.

The tension hanging between him and Leia—arranged on opposing benches and both pretending great interest in their newspapers—was palpable. Han would glance up every so often, wishing Leia didn’t look so damn good in her loose summer dress, unruffled and pristine despite the events of the day. A million apologies, most of them beginning with “ _I’m sorry I’m an insensitive, selfish idiot_ ” hung in his mouth, desperately wanting to be blurted out. Yet, every time he looked at her, saw the sadness she carried with her everywhere, so ingrained in her expression it was though she no longer noticed it, he lost his courage. That sadness—a sadness he saw reflected back at him every time he looked the mirror—was partially his fault.

His fault for being an emotionally stunted _child,_ who couldn’t be there for his wife or son when they needed him most. When he just hid amongst his research or an archeological dig at the first sign of emotional tension, hoping everything would fix itself on its own. He didn’t handle any of it well—marrying into a magical family with serious father-son issues, his son being brainwashed by his father-in-law—and he realized he was only feeding into the continuous cycle.

There was a sigh and finally Leia demanded: “Are you going to say something or keep being indecisive?”

Blinking up at her in surprise—he tried very hard to not grin boyishly at her characteristic sass; he ultimately failed—Han replied, “Do you prefer the indecision because I’m more than happy to keep going, if you want?”

She gave him a dry look. “Han,” she intoned.

“Right, sorry,” he amended, grin only marginally fading. Looking down at the newspaper for moral support—it offered none—he began, slowly, “I should’ve…I should’ve told you this a long time ago. Six years ago, to be exact, but I was so fucking _scared_ , Leia. Scared that, since we lost Ben, I’d loose you, too, and I did the most logical— _and idiotic—_ thing I could think of to do at the time. I left you before you left me…and I know you told Luke the opposite—which is nice of you—but you really don’t have to make excuses for me anymore. I’m really done doing that—making excuses—because I’ve had six years to think about how stupid I am and how really, really sorry I am. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened in my miserable life and I willingly gave you up.”

Han’s rambling came to an abrupt stop and he chanced a glance at her. Her expression was a war of reactions, all impossible to distinguish from the other, and Han swallowed hard over the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. After a long silence, Leia replied, “Well, as far as apologies go, that was a very good start.”

Han couldn’t help his bark of surprised laughter. “‘A good start?’” he repeated, before shaking his head when Leia returned his grin, though it was weak and small. She was right, this was a good start; albeit, awkward and tentative but Han would take it. He would take it because he loved this sassy, independent, _beautiful_ woman sitting across from him and he wasn’t going to loose her again. Unlike before, he would fight for her; he’s fight for _them_.

So, he continued, “Leia, I’m not going to pretend I’m not still hurting over losing Ben and I’m sure you are, too. When…when everything happened, I thought I was going to fall apart from the grief. I didn’t know how to cope, even though we tried for two years, and I know I don’t have to explain this to you because…because it was worse for you. I mean, Ben ran off with your estranged father, for Christ’s sake.” Han paused, shaking his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to mention…him…and what I’m _really_ trying to say is that, despite all my really bad choices, I’ve never stopped loving you. I mean, before that, we’ve been through so much and it’s kind of unthinkable for me to _ever_ stop loving you despite _everything_ because, because, you’re fucking Leia Organa and you’re perfect and beautiful and I’m so unworthy of ever having you love me and I really don’t expect you to still love me because I’ve been the world’s biggest—”

Somewhere amidst Han’s rambling apology—he really had no control of himself anymore—Leia had stood, setting aside her newspaper, and she crossed the short distance between them. Sitting at his side, practically in his lap, her lips against his jabbering mouth effectively cut him off. Pleasantly surprised, Han didn’t hesitate for a moment to return her kiss, throwing aside his paper to better wrap his arms around her, to pull her closer and never let her draw away. Yet, when they did for air, Leia fixed him with what Han recognized was her most serious of stares. “Don’t for a second believe I ever stopped loving you, Han Solo.”

Han grinned; yes, it wasn’t really much. There was still so much hurt between them, so much history, but on the road to forgiveness, it was a _very_ good start.

_Al Qababt, Egypt_

Rey wasn’t sure how Kylo had managed to lift her from the breakfast nook—awkward and cramped as it was—without removing his lips from hers or carried her through the cabin without hitting his head on the low-ceiling. Perhaps later, when her legs weren’t wrapped securely around his waist and her thoughts weren’t entirely devoted to kissing him, she would speculate on it. For now, she was being laid down on the tiny cot in the cabin’s even tinier bedroom, and Kylo was kissing along her jawline, paying special attention to the sensitive skin behind her ear.

She faintly registered his hands sliding under her skirt, unbuckling the garters of her stockings, but then she was too concerned with unbuttoning his tan button down and running her fingers along the hard outlines of his muscles, defined under his wintery ski. He tensed slightly under her touch. Rey knew she should be nervous, she had never slept with a man let alone kissed one—besides Kylo in Rabat—but all she could truly focus on was her _need_.

The brief speculation of if this was Ma’at’s influence—always drawn to a magician of her beloved husband—flashed through her mind. But, as Kylo traveled down her neck, sucking and nipping as he went, she knew this was a passion she could only blame on herself.

She gasped—cold air hitting her skin—as he unbuttoned her sweater then blouse, the cotton and linen fabrics pushed aside to reveal her thin, and very form-fitting, chemise. Rey was grateful she had the foresight to wear her good, silk one. Kylo made a low growling noise, something primal and possessive, and soon Rey had wiggled free of her blouse, sweater, and skirt entirely, leaving her vulnerable under his scorching gaze. As he paused, drinking in the sight of her, he shed his unbuttoned shirt and undershirt, amused when Rey’s eyes widened at he sight of his trim torso. Her gaze bashfully followed the deep-cut of his torso’s pelvic muscles before hurriedly returning to stare up at his face.

“You’re allowed to look,” he teased as he leaned back down, knees on either side of her hips and bracing himself on his forearms, kissing her sweetly, tenderly. After a moment, his long fingers brushed against her stomach and flitted under her chemise, running a hand along her soft skin. His touch was scolding, electrifying, and sent waves of nerves coursing through her. Sensing her hesitation, he broke the kiss and raised his head enough to meet her eyes evenly. “We can stop if you want,” he offered, voice laced with concern.

Biting her lip, Rey reached a hand up to tangle in his hair, pulling him back down to her. He smiled against her lips, his hand now sliding down farther until it he was tugging gently at her briefs, pulling them down to her mid thigh. Abandoning her lips and chuckling at her quiet whine of protest, he kissed a trail down her chest, his hands briefly pushing under her chemise to cup her breasts, before he reached her hips. Sitting back, he rid her of her briefs, tossing them aside carelessly before hiking one of her legs over his shoulder, pressing scorching kisses along the soft, tender skin of her inner thigh. Her body was racked with anticipation, seemingly humming in response to his touch.

When he had nearly reached her crotch, he retracted his head, instead continuing on with gentle, considerate fingers. Rubbing against her slickness—she briefly wondered when that had happened—he slid one finger into her. When she gasped at the sensation, he slid in another finger, moving against her until she lost control of her senses. Instinctually, she rolled her hips in time with him and, just when she was reaching some sort of an ending—she didn’t have the word to describe it, in her state of blurry euphoria—he pulled his fingers out, returning to reclaim her lips, kissing her even as she growled in annoyance.

He replied with a chuckle as her hands worked at unbuckling his trousers, pushing them down—along with his briefs—and briefly muttered, “Clever girl.” Her only response was another kiss and her hips rolling up to meet his. He needed no further encouragement though he still planted a kiss at the corner of her lips, asking, “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes,” she replied, turning her head to kiss his cheek. After returning the gesture, he entered her slowly, gently, and winced slightly as she gasped against his hair, her hot breath gusting against his cheek.

“Alright?”

Her reply was breathy this time: “Yes; yes, of course.”

There was no more talking thereafter, only breathing that grew steadily harder and more in rhythm until they inhaled and exhaled as one. Face buried in her neck, hands cradling her head, he felt her trembling, perfect heat beneath him and savored it, wanting to study and _know_ every inch of her tanned skin, every aspect of her. When she cried out, glistening in sweat and fingers pulling against his hair, he was suddenly taken with a fierce wish to give her such ecstasy for the rest of her life, to be the only one to know her as he did now.

Later, when they were exhausted and tangled together, neither knowing which legs or arms belonged to whom, he pressed a kiss into her hairline. She curled against his chest, head pillowed on his pectoral muscle, and for the first time in a very long, he wasn’t cold; for the first time in a very long time, he knew contentment.

 

_November 5, 1940: Luxor, Egypt_

The sun was half way to the horizon when Kylo and Rey crested the hill the Karnak was built into and there—rising from the other ruins and the chalky sands, was the temple of Ma’at. The dig site was virtually untouched since last Rey saw it; what had been salvaged of the scaffolding still stood, markers and stakes still hammered into the ground, and her unearthed work from hypostyle hall created a maze of fallen columns. Subconsciously, Rey stopped short at the sight.

Kylo’s large hand took hold of hers, their fingers twining. Leaning against his side—Kylo resting his chin atop her head, enveloping her in his assuring presence—Rey swiped the back of her free hand over her eyes, breathing out a long, wobbly sigh. Finally, she spoke quietly, “After all the time spent here and then everything that’s happened…” Her voice trailed off and she felt him nod. Still, she forced herself to continue, to articulate the swirling, nauseating thoughts churning through her mind: “I can’t believe I didn’t know before, that I didn’t guess. It was all too coincidental but I accepted it because for the first time…for the first time, I had a purpose and a family.” She laughed humorlessly. “I’m so naïve and stupid.”

“There’s nothing wrong with needing to feel accepted,” Kylo replied, voice low and soft. Rey knew he was thinking of Vader, Hux, and wanting so desperately to prove himself, to be accepted. She drew away enough to stare up at him and he offered her small, sad sort of smile. “Besides,” he offered. “You didn’t know; Ma’at didn’t want you to then.”

Now Rey returned his smile, though hers was brighter, and she stood on tiptoes to press a kiss into the corner of his mouth. “Thank you,” she replied simply before tugging at his hand and they lurched back into motion once more.

There was no doubt that, after last night—after the realization that Kylo served Thoth, after sleeping with him as though she were his wife as Ma’at was Thoth’s, after having sex with him—the dynamic between them would change. Before, it was hostile and awkward at best; now, they finally allowed themselves to relax. Though it was impossible to articulate, impossible to find the right words to describe it, Rey had a sureness that this—whatever kissing, sharing looks that needed not words for communication, and seeming perfectly in tune with the other _meant_ —was right. She also had a sureness it was a process expedited by Ma’at and Thoth, themselves.

At the thought, a pleased sort of amusement echoed through Rey’s mind. She waited for the goddess’ voice to whisper through her thoughts but it seemed she wouldn’t comment, not even to gloat.

The morning and early afternoon had been spent making steady progress up the Nile—the wind continuing to be in their favor thanks to Kylo’s occasional magical encouragements—and lingering touches, tender caresses, and brief snatches of blurry kisses colored it. Though, neither allowed themselves to become too absorbed with the other. Whatever passion had been suddenly kindled between them didn’t overshadow the urgency to arrive in Luxor, to retrieve the Scales.

As they continued along the path through the Karnak, making for Ma’at’s temple, Kylo explained, voice grave, “I’m surprised Hux and his men aren’t here yet.”

“Will they have known to come back?” asked Rey, voice tight with strain but knowing the subject couldn’t be avoided. She had yet to reconcile the three Kylos she encountered: the one from the bazaar—innocent and sweet—the Nazi officer and Set magician—selfish and a child of destruction—and the magician of Thoth—her other half, her lover. She knew Kylo was never truly the second version but it was it was his history, it colored him, and it would take a great deal of time to sort through her tangled emotions regarding the matter.

“If Luke and the others know to come here, Hux will too. He might appear like a pompous, arrogant—” Kylo cut himself short, shaking his head and jaw muscles jumping, his teeth clenched tight. Releasing a steadying breath, he concluded: “But he’s also a famed archeologist and Egyptologist. He knows the mythos about the Scales so I’m sure he’ll realize to come back here.”

Rey shook her head as they finally stepped through the remains of the outer wall of the temple, through where the main gate stood thousands of years ago. “Such a great mind of our field and he’s perfectly fine destroying all of this,” she muttered, gesturing vaguely with her free hand.

“He’s too indoctrinated in Set,” was all Kylo said in reply and Rey nodded, fully grasping his meaning. It wasn’t an excuse; perhaps, only a little more than twenty four hours ago, she would have damned Henry Hux for his allegiance. But now—though she still despised Set, the Nazi Party and their ‘heritage hunters, and Hux, himself—she at least understood. When it came to the gods, it felt as though their wills were not their own.

Pausing once more, Rey sucked in a deep lungful of air, grinning wildly as she exhaled. It was cleansing and meditative, the air tinged with a familiarity. She couldn’t place what it was; the arid, dryness was no different from the smell of the rest of the Karnak or even the smell of the docks, but it exhilarated Rey, making her nearly giddy with anticipation.

She turned a bright grin up to Kylo only find him returning it. “I can feel it, too,” Kylo said. “It’s like coming home.” And he was entirely correct: it was deeper awareness they had and shared. They continued on, moving with reverence through the ancient, hallowed ground, Kylo taking keen interest in the depictions of Thoth in the hypostyle and sanctuary. Releasing her hand to squat before the image of Thoth—depicted as a man—Kylo traced his fingers along the careful chiseling. There was an odd look on his face, as though he was listening intently, and Rey knew Thoth was speaking to him. She worried if she looked as strange when Ma’at spoke to her.

 _You do,_ Ma’at teased.

 _Thanks,_ she thought back dryly. Rey was certain she heard laughter.

Subconsciously, Kylo nodded vaguely before standing once more. Turning back to Rey, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. After regarding her for a moment, he offered, “Thoth spoke to me. He said to thank you for finally figuring out who’s magician I am.” He paused, chuckling slightly. “He was getting annoyed at my stupidity for not realizing it myself.”

“It _is_ unfortunate that you’re serving the god of intellect then,” Rey replied, giggling at Kylo’s faux offense. Snorting as she laughed, and pleased to find she wasn’t the least bit embarrassed, she prompted, “Did Thoth have anything else to say?”

Grinning, Kylo answered, “He says we’ll both be needed to find the Scales. He explained that, though we’re both serving deities of balance, because of Set being Thoth’s father, I’m inherently tinged with Darkness. Since Ma’at’s the daughter of Ra, you’re more Lightness. Together, we provide a balance.”

There was a vague snort in Rey’s mind—did goddesses really _snort_?—and Ma’at sulked, _I though we agreed_ I _was supposed to tell you that._

Rey couldn’t help laughing and she relayed Ma’at’s reply to Kylo, who laughed. “They really are an old married couple,” he commented.

Taking his hand and squeezing it, Rey replied, “But they’re _our_ married couple.” Kylo’s grin—impossibly—grew wider. He quite liked the sound of anything being both _his and_ _Rey’s._ When their mirth subsided, Rey turned her eyes to the altar, still pushed aside and exposing the stairs downward. Shielding her eyes from the sun, Rey sighed. “Shall we?”

Wordlessly, Kylo nodded, abruptly sober in the face of their mission, and the pair closed the distance between them and the stairs. They blinked down into the yawning abyss of darkness below. Frowning and holding a hand to his chest, just over his heart, Kylo took a moment to concentrate, before drawing it away and revealing a small orb of red light cupped in his hand. Rey gasped at his side. “How did you _do_ that?”

Not helping a small grin, Kylo replied, “Focus on your need for light and allow your energy to flow. But make sure you don’t put your whole willpower into it. We don’t want you nearly dying again.”

 Shaking her head, smile quirked, Rey mimicked Kylo’s actions and soon had a light of her own, flickering merrily in her hands. If they had a time, Rey would’ve been fascinated to consider why her magical light was a cheery sky blue while Kylo’s was a smoldering red. Before she could voice this observation, Kylo gestured her to lead the way and Rey descended slowly and carefully into the darkness.

For one brief, flashing moment, nostalgia tightened her throat. Last she was making this descent, she was with Professor Solo, Chewbacca, and Lando. It seemed like a lifetime but was only a week and a half ago. Then she swallowed heavily and focused on the present.

As they were navigating the corridor—the hard stones cast with flickering red and blue shadows—Kylo offered from behind her, “I’m sorry Hux destroyed the dig site.”

She paused before replying, surprised by her immediate, volatile reaction and taking a moment to collect herself. Finally she managed, “Just promise you weren’t apart of it.”

Without hesitation, he confessed, “I knew it was happening; that’s why I took you out to dinner. I wanted to be sure you’d be safe but…but I never wanted them to destroy all your research. I knew they’d burn the site but it never occurred to me…” She imagined him shaking his head, ruefully. “It was naïve of me.”

Rey didn’t trust herself to respond as they continued down the remainder of the passage. Her emotions ranged from biting out a snappy comment she would inevitably regret and benevolent forgiveness. As they stepped into the wide, open chamber—she only faintly registered surprise that there was no sign of her collapsing the corridor’s ceiling—she turned to him. “Kylo, I’m not going to say I can forgive you right away; I don’t want to lie to you. But I’m not mad.” She stared at him honestly, squarely, and Kylo bent to kiss her cheek in thanks, unable to find the right words to reply.

Smiling marginally, Rey said, “Come on.” She led him to the beautifully painted image of Ma’at, her wings stretched out and face turned towards the Scales and the depiction of Thoth. Blinking at the rendering of the god, Rey realized why she had found it so familiar: he bore a strong resembled to Kylo. Brows furrowing, Rey’s eyes cut back to Ma’at.

Voicing her thoughts, Kylo breathed out at her side: “Rey…you look like Ma’at and I look like...”

“Thoth,” Rey supplied when Kylo’s voice trailed off, her own tone weak. They exchanged looks, neither sure what to think. Taking ahold of his hand—a instinctual reaction now—Rey squeezed it and said, “Well Kylo, let’s find those Scales.”

Hesitating for a moment, Kylo nodded slowly, eyes darting away from hers. Taking in a fortifying breath, Kylo began, “Actually, Rey, there’s something I’ve got to tell you first…Kylo Ren is the name I took when I joined Vader to serve Set.” Rey nodded, encouragingly. He forced himself to continue in one great rush: “My name’s Ben.”

“‘Ben,’” she repeated slowly before nodding. “Ben suits you.” Relief washed over his expression and tension Rey hadn’t noticed building in his square shoulders evaporated. Smiling gently, she stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth, before asking, “So, _Ben,_ shall we find the Scales?”

“I’d be my honor,” he answered.

Turning back to the depictions of their respective deities, Rey muttered, “But how to go about this.”

 Ma’at’s voice flooded her mind then, dryly drawling, _Don’t tell me I translated those hieroglyphics for your for nothing._

Rey gasped, reciting as though she wasn’t entirely aware she was doing as such: “‘Place your heart upon the scales and allow it to be weighed; sink onto your knees and pray to the winged gods for mercy; search below the unmovable and find your redemption.’”

“What?” croaked Ben.

Glancing up at his confusion, Rey explained, “It’s the inscription on the altar. It helped us realize there was a passage underneath but…but it doesn’t fit the whole message either.” Staring down, Rey found they were standing on a slab of marble cut out from the rest of the smooth, unbroken slab serving as the chamber’s flooring. Stepping back and off the slab, Rey sunk to her knees and Ben did much the same, easily following her thoughts.

Both arranged themselves in an attitude of worship, their palms resting on their knees and facing towards the wall. Closing her eyes, Rey allowed her breath to even out and she called to Ma’at: _Take my heart, o’goddess, and weigh it upon your Scales._

 _‘O’goddess?’_ repeated Ma’at, incredulous. _The sudden formality is unnecessary._

Rey’s mouth twitched into a grin but she didn’t reply, waiting for Ma’at to continue. There was an odd sensation in her chest, as though a coldness had sunk its grip into her heart and tugged, leaving her temporarily hollow. Her breathing remained steady, her body continuing to function, and she wasn’t writhing in agony. It was not a physical removal; she remained perfectly still.

A moment later, her heart was replaced. _Your ib is lighter than my feather; you are worthy,_ Ma’at spoke before adding, _And so is he._ Rey grinned and she was sure Ma’at rolled her eyes. When next the goddess spoke, she sounded amused, _Focus your will on finding the Scales and soon they will appear._

Thereafter, there was silence from the goddess—it was clear she offered all the assistance she was willing to—and Rey slipped her hand into Ben’s. He squeezed it in return, wordlessly conveying Thoth had instructed him much the same. Allowing her breath to even out, Rey opened her instincts to her surroundings. It took a moment to sort through the heat—gravitational and tempting—radiating off of Ben before she was able to look beyond him.

Her senses were flooded with an impression of a warm, golden glow. Yet, it wasn’t entirely light; amongst it were threads of Darkness, woven tightly with the Light and creating a balanced serenity in the chamber. She was enveloped in an eternal dawn and dusk, not quite night nor day, the promise of new beginnings and conclusions. Rey’s attention was drawn to the slab before her, pulsating with a dormant, slumbering power, and she focused her will on it, conveying her desperate need to find the Scales.

There was a gasp at her side and Rey couldn’t help cracking open her eyelids to see what Ben reacted to. Before them—the Scales depicted on the wall erased, leaving only smooth stone in its place—was a set of golden scales, pendulums suspended by delicate threads and gleaming in the dim light filtering into the chamber. Neither Rey nor Ben dared move, too transfixed at the mere sight.

“ _Ben Solo!”_ shouted a familiar voice, bouncing off the walls until the voice rung in Rey’s ears. Startled, nearly choking on her own breath, Rey scrambled to her feet, turning hurriedly to find Professor Solo at the chamber’s center, followed closely by all her friends.

Staring at them in surprise, it took her a moment to register the Professor’s words. Eyebrows jumping, she snapped at Ben, “ _Solo?”_

“Hello Dad,” Ben replied coolly, expression indecipherable. His eyes flitted to Ambassador Organa and he nodded singularly. “Mom.”

“Ben…what…?” Rey demanded, voice weak, her mind scrambling to make sense of it. It was all so forthcoming, all made so much sense: she could see Professor Solo in Ben’s nose, his long face. She could see the Ambassador’s dark hair and wintery skin reflected in Ben. But still, her mind reeled, rejecting what she saw simply because it was unfathomable for no one to have _told_ her. For _him_ to not have told her.

But then, what did she expect? No one seemed to have any qualms hiding the truth.

Before she could react, Chewbacca was calling out, “Rey, are you okay?”

Nodding as assuredly as she could, grateful for the distraction from the rage swelling in her chest, Rey assured, “Yes, I’m alright.”

As the words were leaving her mouth, her eyes widened and she—and everyone else—was most certainly _not_ alright. Flooding into the chamber behind Finn and Mister Dameron was Colonel Hux and an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu settled over Rey.

“We meet again,” Hux observed, pleasantly, eyes sliding over Professor Solo, the Ambassador, and Luke before turning to Rey and Ben. His eyes were unseeing of them, instead focusing on the Scales—golden and gleaming—partially blocked by their legs. “Ah, the Scales at long last,” he observed. Rey tensed as he strode closer. Behind him, his soldiers formed a barricade before the only entrance and exit to the chamber. “Good work, Ren. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

 “I’m not letting you take the Scales, Hux,” Ben growled out in reply, stance widening and readying for a fight.

Hux’s red brows jumped. “You’re betraying us? For what? For her?” He nodded to Rey. Ben didn’t rise to the bait, jaw clenching to restrain himself from replying. Hux snorted. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprise. You betrayed your family for Set. You betrayed your country for the Nazis. Now you’re betraying us for _her.”_

“I’m not betraying you, Hux. I was never _with_ you,” Ben bit back.

Hux paused, silent for a moment. “Well, I suppose that’s true,” he agreed. Staring at the Scales for a long moment, he held his hands behind his back and turned to inspect Professor Solo and the rest of the crew at his back. A slow smirk unfurled on his lips, eyes alighting on Finn. “Ah, the traitorous tour guide from Cairo. I should’ve known better than to employ an American, they’re so unreliable.”

Finn tensed, looking close to snapping back, but a tight hand on his elbow kept him silent. Tearing his eyes from Hux, Finn gave Mister Dameron a grateful nod.

It was Luke who replied. “What’s in it for you, Hux? You don’t have any magic in you; why serve Set?”

Hux blinked for a moment before laughing a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten your first apprentice, Luke. He’d be so hurt to hear that.”

Luke visibly paled. “You’re…he’s…he’s still alive?”

“Of course, great men like him don’t just fade into obscurity, which is more than I can say for some people,” Hux replied, his thinly veiled jab finding its mark as Luke frowned deeply.

Brows furrowing, not following the conversation, Rey stole a glance up at Ben but found his expression stony. Any explanations weren’t forthcoming. Glancing at the others, only Chewbacca, Professor Solo, and the Ambassador’s expressions seemed comprehending and they mirrored Luke’s graveness. “He’ll only betray you, Hux. When you’re usefulness to him and Set is exhausted, he’ll dispose of you,” Luke warned.

 “Like how you tried to dispose of him?” Hux demanded smoothly, brow arched.

Luke winced. “He’ been feeding you lies,” he snapped back before pausing. “And I see you’ve swallowed them willingly.”

“The only liar I see is you, Skywalker,” Colonel Hux replied cuttingly before he turned swiftly back to Ben and Rey. “I’m bored with all this; just give me the Scales and I won’t kill you…or have this temple destroyed.”

“Dammit, Henry,” Professor Solo interjected then. “Don’t you have any professional pride left?”

Not turning back, Hux replied, “Wait your turn, Solo. I’ll deal with you after your son.”

 _Aren’t you doing to do something?_ demanded Ma’at in Rey’s mind as Ben and Hux glared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills.

 _Such as?_ Rey thought back, irritated. Unexpectedly, an image of the chamber flashed through Rey’s mind only there wasn’t one entrance—the one blocked by Hux’s men—but two, the second not far from Rey. _Of course,_ Rey thought. _They would’ve built an emergency exit as soon as they dug down here._

Ma’at replied, slightly exasperated but pleased: _Exactly._

Ignoring the barbs being exchanged by Ben and Hux—though she was sure they were witty and biting—Rey casted her awareness around the chamber, finding a hollow section behind one section of the wall, right where the image placed the second exit. Focusing on her need to protect her friends, to escape safely, Rey envisioned the wall dissolving into a mound of dust, leaving the hidden tunnel exposed.

There was a tug—as if a string was attached to her navel and someone was pulling violently—and she gasped involuntarily. Her eyes flew open and she hurriedly turned to inspect her work; there was yawning, gaping whole in the chamber’s wall, exposing a tunnel.

“What—?” Hux squawked out but before, he could say anything else, the chamber erupted into pandemonium. Luke lunged for the Colonel, tackling him to the ground, while the remainder of the crew turned on the soldiers—so taken by surprise, none had time to draw their side arms—and Lando soon had one of the men in a headlock.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Ben scooped up the Scales with mindful tenderness; Rey stared as they shrunk in size and changed in property in his large hands. In less then a minute, where once were solid gold, magnificent weighing scales, there now was a thin, shimmering necklace with a scale pendent.

Taking one of Rey’s hands, Ben spilled it into her palm, curling her fingers around it. “Keep it safe, Rey,” he ordered, staring intently into her eyes.

“But, but, Ben—” she stuttered in protest.

Interrupting her with a swift kiss, he replied, “I know it needs both of us to balance it but, right now, the world needs the Light desperately.” He paused, watching her mouth work silently at words but, when she could produce no sound, he pressed another kiss on her lips, this one far more urgent. “Go; run, Rey. Be safe.”

He pushed at her shoulder slightly and, casting him one last look—a look he understood well—she took the first shaky steps towards the newly revealed entrance before breaking into a run. At her back, Ben turned to join Luke— _his uncle_ , Rey realized—in combatting Hux. “I can handle him; now, run!” ordered Ben.

Luke took off, hesitating for only a moment.

The others followed suit, most of the soldiers incapacitated after being sprung on so suddenly, and Rey couldn’t help pausing at the mouth of the tunnel to steal a glance over her shoulder. Luke was the first to brush by her, casting a magical orb of his own—his blue, like Rey’s—and he was closely followed by Finn, Mister Dameron, and Lando. Chewbacca interceded for the Ambassador, who was attempting to fend off two soldiers at once. Though she was holding her own, she couldn’t get away, but one punch from Chewie soon had them both bolting for the tunnel.

“Han!” the Ambassador shouted, “Come on!”

“You go ahead, I’ll cover,” Professor Solo replied, slowly backing towards the tunnel entrance, deftly managing to dodge, evade, and return the hits of five of Hux’s men. The Ambassador, stuttering to a stop beside Rey, watched with wide-eyed concern. The chamber seemed to suddenly be lacking in air as Professor Solo fought with a blunt efficiency— _where did he learn to fight like that?_ Rey wondered, vaguely.

He was quick yet not always quick enough: a punch would graze his cheek, a kick would land on his shin. The Professor took each hit with only a grunt and a smile though each one caused Rey’s chest to tighten until she was sure she couldn’t breathe.

A flash, light catching on something black and metallic, and there was a shot like the heavens opening. It echoed, loud and ringing, from every wall and column, drowning all activity and stealing the sound from the world. Ben and Hux paused their fighting, both turning to stare; the other soldiers recoiled in shock; the Ambassador clutched desperately at Rey’s arm; Rey clutched just as desperately back.

They watched, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as blood blossomed through the back of the Professor’s beige shirt. He took an uncertain step back, a gasp rasping out of his throat raggedly. Then he took another step, and another, until he lost his balance, tumbling backwards, sending his fedora skidding across the floor. Crimson rivers spilled from his mouth.

“No,” breathed Rey, tears stinging her eyes, threatening to fall.

 At her side, the Ambassador was on the verge of sobs, barely managing to choke out: “Han? _Han—!”_

Before either could move forward, could rush to the Professor’s side, Chewbacca was tugging at their arms, urging them to run and escape; to be safe so the Professor’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. Numb, barely aware of her legs churning, her shoes pounding the hard packed dirt, or bursting into the sun light not far from the temple, Rey clutched tightly at the necklace in her palm. It’s stubborn, metallic coolness kept her barely present in reality.

The expedition crewmembers waited for them at the mouth of the tunnel, expressions grave at the tears rushing down the Ambassador, Rey, and Chewbacca’s faces. Without words, they ran, all too far away—too concerned with evading Hux and his men—to hear Ben’s great sobs, witness his desperate fight resume against Hux, or save him when he was smacked across the face with the hard grip of a pistol.


	11. Chapter XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can hardly believe it: the final chapter! I won't ramble on here, so please, enjoy!

_November 6, 1938: New York City, United States_

The faint omens of winter beginning to drift through the canyons of the city and driving most locals indoors. It was Sunday and Madison Avenue was quiet. Uncommonly, unnaturally quiet and it made Ben Kenobi grip ever tighter to his gnarled cane. Wrestling his left hand free of the pocket of his heavy overcoat, he slanted his hand to expose this wristwatch in the gap between glove and sleeve.

He was late; later than he thought.

It was nearly ten-thirty. His telegram to Han Solo and Chewbacca had set their meeting for nine-thirty at the Stork Club but then the train in from Connecticut was delayed. He should’ve known better than to take the New Haven line. It had been dodgy since ’35. At least, he should’ve left earlier.

He was sure a few rounds of drinks would repair any damage for his belatedness. Still, it was terribly rude of him.

Huffing in annoyance at himself, Kenobi stuffed his hand back in his pocket and attempted to quicken his pace. His knees protested; it had been a long while since he had ventured into the city with its hard pavement. Really, a long time since he had ventured past his garden and beehives. The going was slow.

Through the thin, satin inner lining of his coat, he traced the outline of the envelope stuffed in his front trouser pocket. Feeling the thick, unyielding papyrus was some reassurance.

Kenobi stopped, shifting his weigh impatiently, eyes fixed on the traffic signal and waiting for it to allow him to cross 53rd Street, turning left. He was nearly there; he could almost smell the cigar smoke, taste the roasted prime rib, see the envelope delivered into Professor Solo and Chewbacca’s safe keeping.

It was all the information they’d need to find his granddaughter, to ensure she’d be safe, and plea that they locate Luke. Kenobi could only hope they would succeed where he failed. After defeating Vader in Italy two years prior, Luke had gone into self-appointed exile, perhaps trying to recover from the grave toll killing another magician— _his own father_ —took on him. Kenobi didn’t blame him but that didn’t mean he wasn’t endlessly frustrated.

The traffic light finally switched and Kenobi hurriedly stumped across the street, turning left and continuing on. Eyes searching, yearning, for the bright gleam of the Club. Kenobi counted the buildings as he went. There was a ladies’ lingerie boutique, an academic bookshop shop, an alley, a bakery, a perfumery, and finally— _gloriously_ —the Stork Club. He couldn’t help the smile curling his lips. His pace attempted to quicken yet more.

But then, one moment he was walking, and the next he was grabbed, dragged, and slammed against a brick wall. He stumbled, nearly collapsing over a garbage bin, but trapped against the wall, forced to remain upright, by a strong, unrelenting grip. Kenobi’s right hand, still managing to clutch the cane, was pinned against the wall. The hazy streetlights outlined the man hovering over Kenobi, any distinguishing features incomprehensible in the darkness. Heart pounding wildly, Kenobi demanded, striving to sound calm and collected, “What do you want? My wallet? You can take it. It’s in my breast pocket.”

There was a flicker of movement and another man stepped into a pool of light on the sidewalk, where Kenobi walked only moments before. Red hair glinting in the faint light, pale skin almost luminescent, and pristine uniform night itself, Kenobi recognized him in an instant. “Henry Hux?” Kenobi asked, not helping the surprise in his voice. “What are you doing in New York? What are wearing?”

Glancing briefly down, Hux replied disinterestedly, “Oh, this? It’s my new uniform. I’ve been sent here on a diplomatic mission by my master.” It was then Hux shifted, moving his left arm. A bright red armband flashed in the light. Kenobi’s mouth was suddenly very dry.

Quietly, Kenobi asked, “Snoke joined those Fascist pigs?” The grip on his shoulder’s tightened and Kenobi was sure his captor had broken skin.

“Be polite, Mister Kenobi. Insulting my men won’t end well for you,” Hux warned, idly. It was then Kenobi noticed two very crucial details: the man holding him also sported a red armband and there were at least four similarly dressed men in the alleyway. Dryly, Kenobi wondered how much of an international incident it would cause if it was publicized that Nazis assaulted an elderly man while on a ‘diplomatic mission’ in America.

Eyes flicking back to Hux, Kenobi decided the best course of action was to keep him talking. “He just picked up right where Vader left off, didn’t he?”

“That was the genius of Darth Vader: he left behind men to see his visions reach completion,” Hux replied.

“And of course he couldn’t leave you behind as a successor. Is that ever irritating to you: being the only one without magic? Being completely ordinary and _replaceable?_ ” goaded Kenobi. Watching with faint satisfaction as Hux’s face hardened, his jaw jumping, Kenobi trained his focus on the small patch of dirt he stood on, peeking out from the layer of cement. _Geb,_ he thought desperately. _I could do with some assistance._

There was only silence, the earth god either deaf to Kenobi or Kenobi deaf to him. Cold terror seized him: if there wasn’t enough natural earth, he was entirely defenseless. With no connection to his magic, he was truly a feeble, old man.

Breathing out heavily through his nose, Hux grounded out, “Don’t test me, Kenobi. Just because you’re old doesn’t mean I won’t have you taken away for _interrogation_.” The implications went far beyond a few questions. When Kenobi only continued to return Hux’s stare evenly, he continued: “I’ve come about the temple of Ma’at.”

What makes you think I know anything about it?” Kenobi replied.

“Snoke tells me you’ve received word from an old friend about its discovery. An Ambassador Organa?” Hux asked, leading. He studied Kenobi for a reaction but, when there was none, he sighed. “Dammit, Kenobi, don’t make this difficult for me. Just tell me what I want to know or I’ll be forced to hurt you.”

Kenobi glared, focusing all his will on the singular need to get away, to reach the Stork Club, to find Chewbacca and Han. But then, nothing happened. There was no familiar stir of magic, no assistance from Geb. No hope of escape. Instead Kenobi replied, “I’ll take the second option, if you don’t mind too much.”

 

_November 6, 1940: Luxor, Egypt_

When Ben Solo came to, gasping and drenched in frigid water, it was dark and he wasn’t sure if it was very late or very early. His wrists were bound behind his back and his ankles lashed to the legs of the chair he was propped up in. A small wiggle proved the chair wouldn’t budge, bolted down to the hard floor, and Ben allowed himself a quiet sigh of annoyance. Noticing black jackboots just before his chair, Ben turned his gaze upward and glowered. Standing over him, holding a bucket and wearing an expression of endless patience, was Hux.

Seeing Ben’s dark eyes, Hux smirked, not trying to disguise his contempt. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” Hux commented airily. “Good timing, too. Master Snoke has only just arrived.”

Ben coached himself from stiffening, knowing Hux wanted a reaction. Ben wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing one. “‘Snoke?’” he repeated. “When did he get to Egypt? Why’s he here?”

“Set blessed him with a vision. He knew you were going to turn traitor and came all the way from Berlin to deal with you himself. That’s quite an honor,” Hux sneered, unable to resist gloating at Ben’s failure. “You should almost be pro—”

"Hux!” barked a deep, rumbling voice and Hux hurriedly jerked back, standing at attention. Ben’s heart sank somewhere into his toes. Wearing identical expressions of barely concealed terror, Ben and Hux stared at the entrance to the tiny cell, the doorway dominated by the tall, limber frame of a man in a finely tailored, black uniform. Ben’s stomach flip-flopped. He would rather deal with Hux’s pettiness than face Snoke.

“Master Snoke, sir,” Hux greeted, snapping a salute as Snoke prowled into the room. Ben was reminded of a bow-legged jackal, all angles and leering eyes.

Ignoring him, Snoke set aside his cap and crop, his boot heels clicking against the stone flooring. The room plunged into nearly perfect silence, neither Ben nor Hux daring to breath as Snoke came to an arduous halt. Hux hurriedly scuttled out of his path, leaving Snoke to pin Ben with his frigid, calculating glare. Determinedly, heart hammering, Ben met his stare evenly.

A coldness seeped into the rims of Ben’s mind, ghostly fingers slowly curling into a fist, and his breath caught in his throat. It was Snoke, prying into his mind; it was Set, infiltrating his thoughts. A trick Vader used to submit Ben to, teaching him to recognize and repel the mental assault, Ben focused on the image of a wall—sandstone, mortar dried and evenly set, the bricks unblemished. Sweat sprung to his brow.

It was pressure, an acute pain, unlike anything he had experience before. The wall didn’t collapse but it felt as though tidal waves were battering against it. The grip of Snoke’s magic was no longer prodding fingers, testing Ben, but rather talons. Perhaps if Ben weren’t so focused, wasn’t so desperately trying to repel Set and Snoke, he would’ve been embarrassed that tears were beginning to pool, and streak, from his eyes. But allowing infiltration into his mind would be destructive, would be forfeiting Rey’s safety.

Ben was cognizance enough to think a desperate prayer: _Thoth, please! Help!_

A roar, silent to the physical, corporal world but deafening and blood-curdling to Ben, shook in his eardrums. Now he screamed. He was hot all over, his skin coals and crawling with scarabs, and then the roar formalized into coherent, shouted words. It was Snoke’s voice, battering at his mind: _You idiot boy! You traitor! You failure! You’re weak; you’ve always been weak, just like your mother. Just like your burnout fath—_

But then the roar was muted abruptly, snatched from existence, and the scalding heat encasing Ben was replaced. He was still hot but it was different, the warmth at once crushing in its gravity and comforting in its familiarity, and Ben’s mental wall crumbled to dust. In addition to Snoke in his mind, there was another presence. A presence that perfumed the air with the scent of freshly harvested papyrus.

Speaking with a voice not his own, a voice that was generations of voices speaking at once, a flock of ibises cawing, a bank side of papyrus reeds rattling, Ben said, “Greetings and salutations.” Snoke visibly paled, his presence slipping abruptly from Ben’s mind, too shocked to concentrate on mental torture.

 _How’s that for help?_ Thoth whispered in Ben’s ear.

 _What are you doing?!_ Ben shot back, trying to not panic over the idea of a god _possessing_ him, if that was indeed what was happening.

He got the distinct impression of amusement and Ben spoke again in the divine voice: “How kind of you to find my magician but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t break him. He’s new, you see, and was very hard to find. Magicians aren’t a dime a dozen, you know.”

Thoth-through-Ben paused, waiting for either Snoke or Hux to reply. Yet, Hux seemed to have been overcome with paralysis while Snoke continued to blink. Ben shrugged andThoth seemed very pleased at this show of dramatics. He continued, “Please tell Set to mind his manners. Invading the mind of another gods’ magician?” Ben tisked, shaking his head. “I had thought better of him.”

 _Why are you here?_ Ben thought.

Ben imagined Thoth giving him a sly grin. _What does it look like? Saving you. But just this once and it’s only because you’re new to the job._ Ben resisted the urge to pull a face and Thoth’s laugh bounced through Ben’s mind. Thoth added then: _Be ready to run._

 _What?_ Ben had enough time to think back before there was a great flash of light, scalding Ben’s exposed skin and disintegrating the cords binding him. When next he blinked, glowing spots swimming through his vision, he was freed and Thoth’s presence was gone, leaving the room bitterly cold.

There was only an instance of Snoke, Hux, and Ben all staring at each other, expressions reflecting confusion and awe, before Ben was scrambling up and bolting for the door. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, pumping his arms, and making the hard turn out of the door and down the hall beyond.

Behind him, Snoke’s shaky voice drifted to him: “Let him go.” There was a brief pause before he added, voice stronger: “He’s told us what we want to know.” Ben, even as he was making his gamble for escape, knew he was suddenly in far more danger than he ever was in the interrogation room.

 

_November 8, 1940: Alexandria, Egypt_

Hollowness had settled in Rey’s chest, so deep and draining she had no energy to cry. She only had energy to sleep and stare out of windows in the interim time of wakefulness; when she was mentally but never physically exhausted.

The expedition crew had returned to _The Ament_ to recover their research and personal effects before catching the first train for Cairo, bound for Alexandria thereafter. The only talk amongst them was of plans to leave the country, flee back to Morocco or Britain or the United States. _A_ _nywhere_ out of the jurisdiction of Hux seemed appropriate but that talk only filled the void for one eighth of the journey from Luxor to Cairo. When they finally returned to Alexandria in the early hours of the seventh, staying in Lando’s mansion, the silence seemed to have stretched for so long, it could never be broken.

Rey was contented to let it remain. She was fairly sure she would never speak again. Ma’at had even grown silent, wanting to leave Rey to her sorrow.

The overwhelming sense of failure—failing to save Professor Solo, failing to protect Ben, failing to bring about balance—weighed her down until her limbs were almost too much a burden to walk, to sit upright, to get out of bed.

It was the afternoon of November eighth and Lando had only just returned with the quiet news that he booked them passage on a steamer to Tangier and then Miami thereafter. The expedition crew members, including all those who unofficially joined but had survived, were in the sitting room. Tea had been offered an hour ago but Rey paid it no mind. She was too transfixed on staring out the wide windows, peering across the veranda, hypnotized by the swaying palm trees. She clutched at her stomach, wondering if the pain would ever subside.

The Scales, though the chain and pendent were as light as a whisper, hung heavy around her neck. The golden necklace scalded her skin with the mere knowledge of its presence. She couldn’t remove it, couldn’t take it from her neck. It was her only reminder that she could still feel. She’s still alive and the numbness didn’t just spirit her off without notice.

She blinked hard, refusing to cry. Refusing to think of the journey to the Duat with Ben. Refusing to think of the journey Professor Solo had ridden through to its termination point.

There was a gentle pressure on her hand, a gentle coaxing guiding her hands away from the tight grasp on her stomach. A warm squeeze. Tearing her eyes away from the window, Rey found herself looking at Finn. He offered her a sad sort of smile. “Hey,” he said, his voice barely above a breath.

It took her a long moment to find her voice and, when found, to coax it into speech. “Hi,” she returned. She knew the other occupants of the room—Lando, Chewie, Ambassador Organa, Luke, and Mister Dameron—were all blinking at her, shocked and keenly interested to hear her speak.

“Do you want to eat?” he asked. When she shook her head, he frowned. “Rey, you’ve got to eat.” He hesitated before adding, “Professor Solo would say you’re stupid for starving yourself.”

Rey blinked for only a moment, a jab of pain jolting through her chest at the mention of the Professor, before she realized he was right. A laugh slipped from her lips; it was a feeble sound. “I suppose you’re right.”

Now, he gave her a bright grin, standing from his place at her side and gesturing for her to follow. “’Course I’m right. I always am.”

Shaking her head, she lurched to her feet. At her sudden movement, the pendent tumbled from her blouse and, attention caught by glint of gold, Finn’s eyes fixed on it. Eyes unrecognizing for only a moment, his mouth popped open. He stuttered, “Is…is that…?”

Flushing a deep, violent red, Rey snapped back, “Yes.” She reached up to stuff the necklace back under her shirt but then her eyes met Ambassador Organa’s; she froze. Brown eyes, so like her son’s, locked on hers and now a blush of shame colored Rey’s face. Taking a deep breath, she reached behind her neck and carefully undid the clasp. Cupping the necklace in her palms, Rey closed her eyes and focused on returning the Scales to their original size.

There was a weight in her hands and, when next she opened her eyes, the Scales gleamed in her hands. Tears throbbed at Rey’s eyes, wanting to be shed, but she bit her lip and refused to cry. She was a magician of Ma’at. She had to be strong.

She dared not look at any else’s expressions, especially Chewbacca’s hurt that she hadn’t confided in him, and focused solely on the Ambassador. Rey didn’t know where to begin, how to explain, so she began with a simple truth: “Ben’s a magician of Thoth. I need his help to wield these Scales, to bring balance.”

The reply was perfect silence, the Ambassador’s expression flickering with emotions as she processed Rey’s words. There was confusion, shock, anger, sadness, and finally something approaching relief. Still, she did not reply. Disquieted by the continuing silence, Rey added: “He helped me find them; he betrayed Hux and the Reichsbund. He’s completely turned his back on Vader and Set.”

It was then that the Ambassador rose, taking careful steps toward Rey. Watching her, uncertainly, Rey allowed the Ambassador to take the Scales from her hands and set them aside. Next Rey knew, Ambassador Organa was pulling her into a tight hug. Still for only a moment, taken by complete surprise, Rey’s mind scrambled for a reaction. It was a rarity for her to be hugged but, after another moment of hesitation, she returned the hug fiercely, burying her nose into the Ambassador’s jacket. She breathed in deeply the scent of sandalwood and ginger. There were faint undertones of cinnamon.

The Ambassador stroked a gentle hand through Rey’s brown curls, murmuring, “Thank you.”

Later, she would explain precisely the nature of the Scales; of being a magician of Ma’at; of her mental link with Thoth’s magician; of Ben’s long journey to Kylo and back again. Later, they would mourn for Han Solo. Later, Lando would regale Rey with stories of the Professor, making her laugh until she cried. Later, Chewbacca and Rey would sit quietly, pouring over their research with him. Later, they would convince Finn to stay with them, Chewbacca arranging the paperwork for him to transfer to Barnett College. Later, Luke would teach Rey how to control her magic, teach her the history of the gods and their magicians. Later, Mister Dameron would find Rey, overcome with a resurgence of grief, and quietly console her.

But for now, being held by Leia Organa and for once feeling as though she knew what a mother’s embrace felt like was enough for Rey.

But for now, she reached out into darkness of the connection, hoping _this_ time—unlike all the other times—he would answer, Rey sighed, thinking,  _Oh Ben, if only you were here._

And his reply,  _I will be soon; I’ll be there._

That was enough for Rey, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to express my deep and undying gratitude to every single person who commented, kudo'd, or simply read! Embarking on this journey with you all was the best part and I'm so fortunate to have been given such fabulous, clever, wonderful readers. If I write anymore, I might cry so I'll simply say: thank you.


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